Heaven Leaves Shadows
by Patchverse-SheCat
Summary: Hank, Scott, Remy, Jean, Rogue, Kurt, Lorna and Bobby try to lead normal lives without being superheroes. Language and some mature content. Chap. 11 finally up.
1. Faded Flowers

Heaven Leaves Shadows - Faded Flowers  
  
Disclaimer: No characters here are mine. No locations here are mine.  
  
Author's Note: Yeah, I'm a sap for mushy love stuff. Here are a few of the X-Men, living life and dealing with the many curves that it throws them. Expect Polaris/Iceman, Cyclops/Jean, and Rogue/Gambit at least. I'll probably never complete this, just make it a series which I update occasionally. No end, no middle, but here's the beginning.  
  
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Bobby Drake's Definition of a Leader - "Mindless son of a bitch who wears doofy shades and Spandex. Hey, get your hand off that visor!"  
  
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"I got three aces."  
  
"Liar, you have two cards." Bobby said, smirking playfully. Tonight, the pot would be his.  
  
Remy had other ideas. "Doesn' mean I can't have three aces."  
  
"That's only because you cheat." Absentmindedly, Lorna checked her two cards. With five other people, she was playing Texas Hold 'Em, and finding it immensely stupid. The dim lighting was giving her a headache, it was past eleven and she was tired. Still, if she left the table now, Bobby would label her a wuss for the rest of the week.  
  
"Do not." The Cajun said with a lopsided, yet charming, grin. Across the table, Scott Summers snorted. Remy not a cheater? Yeah, right.  
  
To Scott's left, Hank was teaching Kurt the subtle nuances of a poker face. Kurt had proved to be the worst bluffer anyone else had ever seen. Certifiable, seeing as it was his first time.  
  
"So you don't go for reverse psychology, ja?" Kurt seemed to finally be understanding that the main key was to express no emotion whatsoever.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Hank, mein freund?"  
  
"Yes?" Hank asked.  
  
"Why is a flush worth more than a straight?" Hank shrugged and turned his attention back to the game, raising Scott by two chips.  
  
Kurt took a moment to study his cards. After staring intently at them, he turned back to Hank. "Can I raise you one?"  
  
Hank looked fairly surprised. "Sure."  
  
Too late, Hank caught the mischievous glint in Kurt's eye. "Can I raise you sixty?"  
  
A bit weakly, Hank nodded. A few gasps arose from the room.  
  
"He's bluffing!" said Bobby as he lay down sixty dollars worth of chips. Somehow, though, he didn't look so certain.  
  
Remy thought hard for a second, grappling with common sense and gambler's instinct versus his will to win. He finally set down his chips. "What the hell, I bet twenty bucks on dis pot already anyway."  
  
At his words, Jean came in, passing out drinks. She didn't seem happy at her cocktail-waitress position, but Scott had insisted. Either she left or she made herself useful. "Remind me again why I can't play?" The answer was painfully obvious, but she still felt it was unacceptable.  
  
"Because you're a telepath." Bobby recited. Every night the same question, every night the same answer. What, did she think they were stupid?  
  
Jean glared as usual, but continued passing out beers. The rest returned to their game, so only Lorna caught the wink that passed between the German and the telepath. Decisively, she threw down her cards and sacrificed her original bet so as not to lose sixty more. Scott saw her action and followed her example. After all remaining players had agreed to the score, they lay down their hands. Bobby, three of a kind. Remy, straight. Hank, pair.  
  
Kurt, straight flush.  
  
"Damn it!" Remy raged as Kurt collected the chips.  
  
Scott offered a smile. "So did Remy lose the pot for once?" he asked teasingly.  
  
To his surprise, Remy smiled back, though it was a more insolent smirk. "Don' worry 'bout me, it was your money anyway."  
  
Which left Scott wondering exactly what that meant and where he had last left his wallet.  
  
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Supposedly, Diet drinks were worse for people than regular sodas. Go figure. Rogue figured it would go straight to her hips no matter what she drank.  
  
Not like slugging out on the couch with a bag of Cheetos X's and O's watching Scrubs was all that healthy either. But she figured she deserved some alone time while the others played poker or served drinks. Poor Jean. She shouldn't have let herself get pushed around like that.  
  
Either way, she was happiest when she was alone. Then she didn't have to remember her 'problem'. Her goddamn mutation.  
  
"Chere?" Remy's quiet voice made it clear that he wasn't sure if she was awake or asleep.  
  
She raised her head slightly to see him as he walked in. "Hmm? You lose all your money again?"  
  
"Hell, wasn' my money anyway." Leaning against the edge of the sofa, he shot her his trademark smirk.  
  
Rogue eyed him suspiciously. "Wasn't from mah brother, was it?"  
  
"Nah, it was Scott's." With that, he put his face into her hair and delivered a kiss to it, keeping enough of the chestnut waves to prevent skin contact. It made her nervous when he did that, he knew that for a fact. So he did it just to get a rise out of her. It was his way of continually flirting.  
  
The belle shot him daggers. "Someday you're gonna miss mah hair, hotshot."  
  
He smiled obnoxiously. "What kinda shampoo ya been usin'?"  
  
She turned back to the TV, but the fact that it was a commercial made sure she couldn't be pretending to watch it. She decided it was best to change the topic. "So who won tonight?"  
  
"Your brother." He made a move to kiss her hair again, but she held him back.  
  
"Get to bed! You've had enough drinks for tonight!" She pushed him away, secretly both unnerved and delighted at his urge to touch her.  
  
Remy shrugged and walked towards the bedroom. "I aint drunk." He added as a sidenote.  
  
"Ya wouldn't be able to tell!" She called out after him, trying to keep a serious tone. Settling back down on the couch, Rogue was pleased to see the show was back on. Elliot was being picked on by Doctor Cox, and Cheetos were perfect for companions for a lonely girl on a faded flowered couch.  
  
Inside the bedroom, Remy sighed for the umpteenth time at the sight of two separate beds, with their faded flower pillows perfectly arranged. 


	2. Scott's Interlude

Scott's Interlude - Sun-Dwelling Creature . Author's Note: The interludes come between every regular chapter. They're first-person, present tense. Every main character will have one. A/N2: Sorry, bit of an angst fest here. Not so light-hearted as the last chapter. I'll be back to my old sarcastic third-person self next chapter.  
  
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Scott's Fundamental Law of Life - "Number one rule - Worship Jean."  
  
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Jean's looking out the window, brow furrowed a little bit. It's obvious she hates November. Hell, it's not my favorite month either. No sun, just grey skies, but not enough to snow. The kids all stay inside and drive the adults up the wall.  
  
Who can blame her? She's a sun-dwelling creature, and this whole damn season's draining her dry. She thrives off of summer gold and spring greens and pinks. Grey just doesn't work for her, despite her last name.  
  
Me, on the other hand, if it were not for her bad mood I'd like it. She may like the sunlight, but I can never see it anyway. Damn sunglasses. Everything's red, even after all this time. Frankly, I don't care if the sky's blue or maroon.  
  
Jean, though. She gets restless around this time. And she's so distant nowadays. Something's up, and she's not telling me.  
  
"Scotty, honey?" she asks, just to make sure I'm listening.  
  
Scotty honey yourself, dear.  
  
Instead of snapping at her (God, her mood's getting to me too), I just look at her with the same interest that Bobby shows Lorna (or rather, her rack and ass). Not as hungrily as he does it though, and I make sure I'm looking at her face.  
  
"What's going on in your life?"  
  
Have we fallen so far apart that we have to ask this? Why doesn't she just reach into the back of my head like she used to?  
  
Oh, right. Respective distance. Room to breathe.  
  
"Not much. Watch the kids, sort out fights, scrape gum off the bottom of desks. You?" I try to stay nonchalant. Really, I mean: What the hell have you been doing and why won't you tell me?  
  
My subconscious is screaming at me. It's asking why the hell shed want that respective distance in the first place.  
  
"Same here. Damn kids keep sticking their gum under the tables. It's disgusting." Even while wrinkling her nose, she's still gorgeous. Gorgeous, and still looking out the window.  
  
Of course she wouldn't look at me. How could a perfect, sun-dwelling creature like her ever love someone who hides behind their visor and their glasses? I've been hiding so long it's second nature, and for all her efforts, she can never drag me out of the shadows.  
  
I was foolish to think this love would last. I've based my life around her, and she keeps drifting off again. I was lucky to marry her. Someday, while I'm gone, she'll drift out to sea again, and I won't be there to reel her in. Logan or Hank or someone else will catch her. I guess keeping her is just too much trouble. A whole helluva lot more trouble than I bargained for.  
  
Love isn't enough. A pretty girl like her, she's got suitors everywhere and she can pick and choose.  
  
She slinks onto the bed next to me. I can touch her, but she's so far gone. Her mind is elsewhere. Of course, for a telepath, that's easy. "You don't think it'll snow, will it?"  
  
What the hell. If she doesn't last, I may as well enjoy myself. "Ask 'Roro if she'll do anything."  
  
"Mmm-hmm." She says softly, as if she's half-asleep. I get the feeling she's talking to someone else. She gets groggy when telepathically connecting with someone for a long time. I wonder who she's talking to.  
  
"Jean?" She's curling up next to me, pulling the sheet towards her.  
  
"Mmm-hmm?" It's these little times, when she yanks the covers away to leave my bare legs shivering, that I love her the most.  
  
"God, Jean, I'm in my boxers and the door's open." She doesn't respond. Rubbing my hands to my thighs for heat, I move to the door and close it. Not a great time for Drake to come by and see that I have dinosaur undies on.  
  
On the bed lies my little sun-dwelling creature, mine for as long as I can keep her. I go back over to her, play with her hair. Red like fire, red like ruby-quartz, red like the sunset. Red, the only color I can see. Red. 


	3. A Tree Falls in the Forest

Author's Note: I may feel the need to smash your heads in with really obvious metaphors. Beware.  
  
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Remy's Words to Live By - "Never, and I mean never, eat four chili cheesedogs before bed."  
  
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"Ppthaw!" Rogue woke spitting out cat fur. The culprit, an orange tabby, leapt obliviously down from her face onto the floor. The belle glared down at it. The creature had two names: 'Bellbottoms', for no obvious reason by Lorna, and 'Damn Cat', by Remy. The latter was by far its most common name.  
  
"Damn you, furball. Ah was sleepin', you fluffy moron." She said peevishly. Why the hell didn't Lorna take care of her own cat? Instead, everyone else ran about feeding him, cleaning up his litter box and doing other odd chores that the scrap of dog-bait left for them.  
  
That scrap of dog-bait looked up at Rogue with huge, round eyes. "You probably want me to feed you now, right?"  
  
A meow seemed to confirm the answer.  
  
"Well, Lorna wants ya to have Purina or Fancy Feast or somethin', but you can suck it up and have what everybody else is having." Rogue said, plotting on ways to sneak a less than desired breakfast beneath the table.  
  
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"I dunno, Remy, it just seems like she's avoiding it." Said Bobby. The Cajun shrugged. Drake continued. "I mean, she never says 'I love you', she never wants to kiss me, she never seems to think of me as anything but her toy or repairman - are you laughing at me?" Bobby glared as Remy tried to suppress bitter laughter.  
  
Remy looked at him playfully, smirk running across his face. "Non, just thinkin'. You t'ink you have a screwed relationship?" He said self- deprecatingly.  
  
"Wait till I tell Rogue you said that!"  
  
"You wouldn't."  
  
"Would too!" Bobby punched Remy in the arm jokingly. Seeing that his companion didn't share his enthusiasm, his face fell. "Well then, I guess we're the two un-kissed dudes."  
  
A shrug, but it came with a smile.  
  
Bobby decided to start up a less sensitive subject. "So, I heard the Saints lost. Again."  
  
Taking the teasing in his stride, Remy blew it off. "I never liked baseball anyway."  
  
"It's football, you doofus. What do we call them now, the Louisiana Aint's?" The younger man continued. The other didn't seem to mind all that much.  
  
"Oh, well, dat's how much I know about sports."  
  
Bobby quickened his pace. "Wait up, you've got longer legs than me!"  
  
A more-than-obvious roll of the eyes. "Oh, and dat makes all de dif- !"  
  
Bobby winced as Remy tumbled down the stairs. A loud yelp signaled for him to look at his friend. "Remy, y'okay?"  
  
"Damn it!"  
  
"Remy?" Bobby took a closer look down the stairs, where Remy had cupped his bleeding nose in his hands. It didn't look like anything life- threatening.  
  
"Damn it!" Bobby thumped down the stairs after him. Now that he knew his companion wasn't fatally injured, he could laugh about it as much as he wanted.  
  
"Aww, did Mistah Male Supah Model of the Year get a boo-boo?" He dodged a badly aimed kick. Remy glared up at the stairs.  
  
"Which idiot left a pair of loafers in de hallway?"  
  
Bobby decided to further press the thief's buttons. "It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt. Then it's hilarious."  
  
If looks could kill.  
  
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Even for Kurt, Bellbottoms was a test of patience. For the fourth time that month the damn thing had taken a dump on a bed, and as usual, Kurt was left to clean it up as the other shied off to do random tasks. A few choice words flitted across his mind, but he decided against them.  
  
Of course, Bellbottoms was a master of disguise as well. How could you hate such a fluffy, loving little creature? It rubbed against Kurt's leg, purring dynamically.  
  
Wondering about the validity of Bobby's excuse that he 'had to go save the dodos', Kurt, brought down yet another pair of sheets to the laundry room. From the washing machine there emanated a meow. Kurt removed a furry mass from the machine, wondering how it had magically reappeared there from by his feet. Maybe the cat could teleport too.  
  
Kurt placed the fuzzy burden in the bathroom, along with a clean litterbox. Bellbottoms protested. Kurt put down some food and water to go with it. Still the feline cried out.  
  
"What more do you want? You have food, water, a bathroom and light, and you can hide here so no one hates you!" He said almost fiercely.  
  
The thing seemed capable of an accusing glare. Kurt shut the door on it.  
  
No, he thought. Being able to hide in peace wasn't enough for anyone or anything. The poor cat just needed some love. Like Kurt. He didn't want to spend his entire life hiding his appearance, he just wanted acceptance.  
  
Maybe the cat did too.  
  
Sighing theatrically, Kurt opened the door and started to pet the striped bundle.  
  
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"I deserve a kiss for this." He said matter-of-factly, tousled brown hair hanging just above his eyebrows as he poked his head out from under the bed. For the umpteenth time, he was fixing the bed. For some odd reason, it kept caving in.  
  
"No, I don't think so." Lorna said to her 'boyfriend' with equal quaintness.  
  
"Oh, c'mon, my breath isn't that bad." Bobby crawled out from under the bed.  
  
Irately, "I said no, Bobby."  
  
"C'mon, Lorna." He said, equally annoyed.  
  
She turned her back to him. "If we kiss now we'll both be in pissy moods and it won't be worth it."  
  
Bobby couldn't believe he was hearing this again. "That's what you always say."  
  
"Well, it's true."  
  
Bobby slumped onto the bed. "Well, how bad could it be? `I mean, I'm pretty sure neither of us has Rogue's kiss of death."  
  
Lorna's brow furrowed and her green hair beginning to rise with static. "I said no, Bobby."  
  
"Why not?" He'd heard this too many times before.  
  
"Because."  
  
His face started to redden. "Because what, Lorna? Because I'm not Alex? God knows you'd be sucking my tongue off if I were him!"  
  
A shudder of age ran through Lorna. "Don't you mention him." She said with deadly intent.  
  
Bobby stood up, eyes narrowed. "Why, Lorna? It's because I'm sloppy seconds, isn't it, ever since Alex ran off with -"  
  
"Don't you dare mention him! Don't you ever mention him again!" Lorna turned to him, rage emanating from her entire body, eyes glowing. Bobby looked taken aback, then straightened.  
  
"You know what? I don't think I want to be sloppy seconds." Now it was Bobby who turned, and walked out. Lorna stared after him, halfway between wrath and shock. What had just happened there? Had he just left her?  
  
Outside the room, Bobby rushed through the halls. He didn't want to cry, he was a big boy, but Lorna had played that game for too long. He loved her and she acted like it was nothing. That wasn't the way to a healthy relationship. Not when Alex still hovered in their silences.  
  
Out under the dogwood trees, in the frigid cold, Bobby sternly told himself he wouldn't cry. He would just get over it. He wouldn't mope, wouldn't complain, wouldn't talk it over. For God's sake, he wouldn't cry.  
  
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"Rogue, mein schwester, is that you standing there all alone?" Kurt walked up behind her and stood with her on the balcony. "You'll catch a death of cold."  
  
Rogue smiled. She didn't plan on staying out there long, what with her long-sleeved yet light shirt and her skirt and leggings.  
  
"What are you looking at?" Her half-brother asked.  
  
"Well, Ah'm trying to see what's up on the road." A sour look crossed her face. "Damn these dogwood trees. Ah can't see what the hell is going on! Ah can't see the road!"  
  
"Then why don't you look at the sunset?" He said simply.  
  
She looked up at it, beautiful reds and golds playing across the clouds. "Ah guess Ah just never thought about it."  
  
"Hmm. Shall we watch it a little while longer?"  
  
Rogue grinned at him. "Ah'm cold. Can ya wrap an arm or tail 'round me or somethin'?"  
  
He obliged, wrapping his arm around her waist. They swayed slightly together, like the dogwood trees in the wind.  
  
"Guess there are advantages to fur." She said softly, dreamily, watching the sun play with colors that mocked even the greatest of painters.  
  
She'd never let anyone else hold her like that. Not anyone, not even Remy. There was a special connection there Raven's children that could never be severed.  
  
After a few minutes, the sun decided its game was over and ended with indigos and cobalt. They returned each to their respective rooms, where Rogue saw to her delight that Remy had made the beds that morning, and Kurt found Bellbottoms sleeping on his couch. 


	4. Bobby's Interlude

Bobby's Interlude - High School Love  
  
Author's Note: Sorry about the really slow updates. I'm trying, honestly. I intended to finish the Tempting Fate Arc (hosted on Nightscrawlers because it was started a long time ago), but found myself stuck. And for the past week I've had Bobby jabbering away in my head to write his interlude. So my profuse apologies.  
  
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"Women are like ice cream. The instant they get all mushy they're no fun anymore." ~Bobby Drake  
  
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I hate it when this happens. I hate these stupid little arguments. Why can't we just have a big old blowout fight and get it over with? At least I'd be able to blame someone.  
  
I feel awful. Damn. It's like I want to go get something to eat or watch TV or play X-Box or just do anything, but she's everywhere. It's like one of those bad country songs. I just can't get her out of my head.  
  
I'm so damn mad at her. Mad at myself too, but that keeps slipping to the back of my mind. Where does she get away with treating me like a consolation prize? This isn't high school. They may think I'm a kid but I'm not.  
  
And why do I feel so lousy? I mean, I told her how I felt and it doesn't help one damn bit.  
  
A few hours ago, drinking, Remy said something (I think. It's not like he was making that much sense anyway. Too many tequilas.) about talking it over. Oh crap, I'm taking relationship advice from Remy. How does that go? "Hey sugah I'm leavin' you in Antarctica?" "Love you too, chere."?  
  
One a.m. and I've got one thing to be grateful for. I'm not them.  
  
I hate that. I hate that I can't be the lowest of the low. Bobby Drake, in the middle, unnoticed, yet again.  
  
I just need to go apologize. I need to go get her out of my head.  
  
These hallways are dang cold at night. And lonely. My guess is that Kurt's awake writing a letter or down in the Danger Room, Rogue's conked out on the couch, Remy's conked out on the bed, Hank's conked out in the lab, Jean's conked out in her room, and Scott's got the insomnia from Hell but won't admit it. And Lorna's asleep on the bed I fixed last afternoon.  
  
My chances: she's barely awake and she tells me to shut up and go to bed, or she's barely awake and cranky and she tells me to shut the fuck up and get my ass to bed.  
  
Why am I shaking? It's not like I love her anymore or anything.  
  
Right, Bobby. Just keep fooling yourself.  
  
"Bobby?" What, she was awake? And yes, she's on the couch.  
  
Don't look back now, Mr. Drake.  
  
"Lorna?" Well, now I know why the movies always do that. All those actors asking each other's names before they say anything. It's like a Valley Girl 'like'. It's a stall. An 'umm'.  
  
I hear a sniff. Oh my God, is she crying?  
  
"Bobby, can you come over here?" Well, I came here to see her and she's not telling me to shut the fuck up and get my ass to bed. "Can you sit right there?"  
  
In the back of my head, the little voice says I'm letting her control me again. But it's now or never. Or maybe later if not now. "Lorna, I just- "  
  
"God, Bobby, I'm so sorry. I'm a royal bitch." It's not what she's saying that's surprising me as much as that she just wrapped her arms around my neck and is holding me closer than she ever has before. "Bobby, I'm just so sorry. I love you, I really do, but I just - I love you but-"  
  
It's what I want, isn't it? It's what I really want, right?  
  
"Lorna, why?" I have to ask. I have to.  
  
"I'm just so scared I'll get attached again. Last time I got attached, he ran off with that little-!" She breaks out into sobs. Guess I'm going to have to change shirts.  
  
Shirts. That's all I can think about.  
  
"I just don't want you to be him!" She sobs.  
  
Silence has a name. It's called Alex.  
  
What can I do? What can I do, knowing she still in love with Alex, even if she loves me too?  
  
"I'm not Alex, Lorna." I'm holding her now too. I just want her so close. "I'm Bobby."  
  
The way her voice is so icy cold scares me. "I know."  
  
Remy and Rogue have that touch problem. Lorna and I have an ex.  
  
Fantastic.  
  
I can't even hear what she's saying now. It's just going into my shirt. And quite honestly, if it's anything like how she greeted me, I agree. She has been a bitch. I've been a jackass. What a pair.  
  
"Lorna, could you stop breaking my ribs? I can't breathe when you hold me like that."  
  
Of course she's not listening. She never listens.  
  
"Ummm...goodnight, Lorna?" She's still crying into my shirt. "Well, okay...I'll stay a little while."  
  
God, I'm tired.  
  
I don't know if I'm dreaming or not, because I'm in a tuxedo and she's in a white wedding dress with red roses. And for once, she's not thinking about Alex. And for once, silence has only one name. Silence.  
  
When I wake up, she's still in my arms and the birds are breaking the silence. 


	5. Where the Blues Go

Chapter 5 - Where the Blues Go  
  
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Author's Note: Cranking up the angst here, because a regular day is just too ordinary. Part of this is a self-deprecating joke, because we ran out of propane a few days ago and nearly froze in our own house. I was in the shower at the time, and it was cold.  
  
Random silly team moment chucked in at the end. Because I need a little light-heartedness. Most of the heartache is based on my own experience (not that I've had that much experience. I've never been loved).  
  
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Rogue's Observations - "Playin' Trivial Pursuit with Hank is waste of time. Period."  
  
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It was like his blood was ice water, or just ice itself. It stung whenever he moved, and about a hundred cold-related diseases came to mind. Pneumonia, hypothermia, frostbite, the list went on and on. Painfully raising his hand to try to help open his eyes, he rued the day he'd ever laid eyes on her.  
  
Damn. His eyelashes had frozen together and he couldn't feel his fingers. He scratched at his eyes to help open them. All around him, a normally pristine beauty was just another reminder that his hope was slim. The expanse was as endless as his chances were small.  
  
Spitting out blood from the cuts on his chapped lips, he dared one last time to look up. Nothing but white, white, horrible white. If he ever got home, he'd never wear white again.  
  
If he ever got home again, he'd take a nice, long, hot shower. But home wasn't here, because nothing lived here. Tears had frozen raw tracks on his face long ago. There weren't any left, just that small sliver of hope, and endless, endless white.  
  
He hated her! She was why he was here, knowing that he was freezing to death and being unable to stop it. A slow, horribly obvious death. It was all her fault!  
  
It was so cold. It was so, so cold. Lying down in the snow, he spit out more blood and promised himself not to fall asleep, though he knew he didn't have the will to care anymore. He could just relax a little. Just a little, and then that awful cold would all end.  
  
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Fourth time in a week. Remy woke up shivering, grabbing frantically for the blanket he'd kicked off. Once he had piled at least three more on top of himself, he tried to remember exactly what he'd dreamt about.  
  
Antarctica was over. They'd gotten over it years ago. They said 'no regrets' and moved on. And she loved him and it was an innocent mistake.  
  
Even while he mentally repeated that to himself, he couldn't help the fear and the anger clamping around his chest like a vice.  
  
"Rogue?" Poking his head out of his mound of covers, he cast a glance over at the other bed. Sometime during the night, she'd snuck back into the room. "Rogue?"  
  
"Mmm?" It must have either been early at night or late in the morning, because she wasn't totally asleep. She rolled over to face him, drunken with sleep. "Whah?  
  
He needed to hear it. The recurring memories had gone far enough. He needed her to reassure him. "Rogue, do you love me?"  
  
Normally, the fact that he'd even said that would set off alarm bells for her. But it was dark, and she was tired, and whatever made him happy. "O' course Ah do." She closed her eyes, hoping he would just let her get some rest.  
  
"How much, Rogue? How much?" He pulled another cover on top of himself.  
  
"Mmmm." She rolled back over. "Unconditionally."  
  
After a while, her breathing slowed and became deep. Remy stared at the ceiling, neurotically burrowing himself even further beneath his small mountain of blankets. He still couldn't stop shivering.  
  
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"Lorna?" Bobby blinked several times at the bright light piercing his eyes. Stupid sun. "Lorna, you can let go of my neck now."  
  
His little green-haired gal had wrapped her arms around him during her sleep. Now, with her clinging to him, he couldn't move. Carefully, he removed her hand from the space between his shoulders. She protested slightly, still asleep. Softly, he brushed a strand of forest green from her cheek. "Lorna, wakey wakey."  
  
"I'm awake." She said groggily. Bobby got up and started off. Lorna eyed him nervously, suddenly possessive. "Where are you going?"  
  
"Shower." He said simply.  
  
Lorna sat up, satisfied with his answer. She yawned. "Leave me some hot water, will you?"  
  
"You know I only take cold showers." He said almost perkily. He'd had such a nice dream.  
  
She nodded. "I'll see you at breakfast, then." She blew him a kiss. He grinned. Today was looking up.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Today had been looking up for Bobby and Bobby alone, because something had happened to the pilot light. Everyone else looked murderous. Hank and Kurt were by far the worst off, since they had both been halfway through shampooing their fur when the heat had gone out.  
  
Jean had been lucky. She'd taken an early shower and had decided to cook. Rogue, too, had come down to make breakfast, but that was only after her scream of "Who the hell flushed the toilet?!" had echoed throughout the entire mansion.  
  
A shirtless Kurt came down next, still wiping suds of soap off of his wet coat. Bellbottoms trailed at his heels, pleading for food and licking bubbles off his ankle.  
  
"Breakfast, oh brother mine?" Rogue asked with forced perkiness. She wanted to snap at him for something, but just because her day had started bad didn't mean everyone else had to suffer.  
  
"Was ist?" Kurt grabbed a cup and started up the coffee machine.  
  
"Sausage, hash and eggs. What would you like?" Jean asked with cheerleader-like enthusiasm. Rogue figured that all those poker nights serving drinks had finally addled her brain.  
  
Rogue eyed the coffee machine. "Kurt, can you make me one of them mochas you do so nicely?"  
  
"Ja, mein schwester. Two packs of sugar, right?" Kurt, with the use of his tail, was very efficient at getting beverages ready. "And a hot chocolate for Jean, ja? Because she doesn't like caffeine?"  
  
Jean nodded and set the table as Lorna came in, glaring sourly at the floor as she fed the cat. Kurt made a mental note to get Lorna a latte.  
  
Remy looked frazzled, though that might have been because he'd jumped out of the shower and tripped over a laundry basket. When he sat down to read the Dilbert comic, Rogue nudged him rather hard in the shoulder. "You're gonna work like the rest of us, sugah. You're on litterbox duty."  
  
Remy groaned; Rogue glared. "Or you can go figure out what wrong with the showers, if you want."  
  
Remy obliged. Bobby and Scott came in, Bobby chipper and Scott brooding. Surprising everyone, Bobby suddenly grabbed Lorna and planted a kiss on the back of her neck. Though shocked, she started to giggle, being cheered up more than a latte ever could. Bobby's grin could have lit up half of New York.  
  
"To a new us?" He whispered into her hair so only she could hear. She nodded and smiled.  
  
For now, there was no silence. Lorna was happy that he had come back, happy that he wanted her back, and happy that he was being affectionate in a way Alex never had. She was surprised to realize she liked it that way, the little jokes and the playful, light-heartedness of it. For Bobby, he just wanted to be her Romeo for a while, no matter if it was forced or not.  
  
"Well, if the two lovebirds can stop actin' like we're in high school, Ah think we can eat." Rogue growled at them. They took the hint and sat down at the table. Rogue looked around. "Where's Hank?"  
  
Remy called out to them. "Shower's workin' again!" He sauntered into the room, fairly pleased with himself.  
  
Rogue grumbled something about Hank having to do the catbox and took a seat. Jean could serve. She seemed eager to do it.  
  
Sure enough, Jean did flit around like some chattering bird, serving and chatting at the same time. Hank thumped down the stairs and looked a bit disappointed that he had to "eliminate the feline's excrements".  
  
"And just after my bathing, too!" He added.  
  
Bobby poked at his hash. "Ummm.Rogue, what is this?"  
  
In response, Rogue cracked her knuckles. Bobby wolfed the hash down.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
"Hey, Jean?" Scott opened the door to see her lying on the couch, investigating a Nora Roberts novel and a small bowl of caramels. "Hey, do you want to go shopping later today? The kids need some food."  
  
Jean lolled and stretched. "You, shopping?"  
  
Scott didn't admit that he was feeling like he was getting paranoid. "Can't a husband spend some time with his wife?"  
  
"Yes, but shopping? You never shop." Jean sat up and laid the book carefully on the table, making sure not to hurt its spine.  
  
"Yeah, I know. Do you want to come?" Inside, he prayed that she said yes. He needed to get out of this house. He needed to stop feeling like she was tricking him, somehow.  
  
Jean looked puzzled for a second, then smiled. "Sure, hon. As long as it's not Home Depot or anything."  
  
Scott smiled too. He was going to spend time with his beloved Jean, and she was going to spend time with him. Alone. Without everyone else.  
  
Jean nudged him playfully, suddenly the one calling the shots. "C'mon, but no hardware stores. You're the only man I know who can spend three hours looking at kinds of boxes."  
  
.  
  
.  
  
While Rogue and Lorna had herded students out of the mansion to go play in the snow, some of the men were taking the time off. Kurt was hanging from the chandelier, watching Errol Flynn movies and nibbling on the remains of breakfast. Bobby had joined him halfway through, though he was mainly interested in the popcorn that he'd made. Hank read the New England Journal of Medicine, and Remy was looking over with great intent what appeared to be an encyclopedia.  
  
Bobby, who felt certain that he'd made amends with his girl, was making every attempt to infuriate the other, not so lucky men. "So, Kurt, the Scarlet Bitch didn't call back?" He asked, grinning ear to ear.  
  
Kurt would not allow Bobby's teasing to ruin his good mood. "No, Bobby, Wanda did not call back."  
  
"Well, it aint like German's de most romantic of languages." Remy said simply from the armchair in the corner.  
  
"Oh, and French is?" Kurt replied, equally absentmindedly.  
  
Hank had to intrude upon their conversation. "Actually, French is one of the Romance languages."  
  
"So dere!" The Cajun playfully stuck his tongue out at the German.  
  
"Ach, Rogue's really going to believe you are reading the encyclopedia upside down, Herr LeBeau."  
  
Hank muttered "Checkmate", and Remy's face turned red as he flipped the book over.  
  
"So what exactly are you reading?" Bobby went over and peered over his shoulder. "Holy shit! Look at her rack!"  
  
Remy's face flushed even more furiously. Bobby sent him a look that was between admiration and pity, like looking upon a hero about to die. "Oh man, Rogue's gonna kill you when she finds you reading the Victoria's Secret catalogue!"  
  
"I'm just shoppin' for her."  
  
Bobby burst into laughter. Kurt shushed him, but chuckled under his breath. Hank snorted into his magazine.  
  
Bobby slapped the end of the armchair. "Victoria's Secret for Rogue?! Man, you are so bad!" Remy raised his eyebrows comically, sending Bobby into uncontrollable hiccups. Kurt and Hank laughed too, and the former circus performer flung part of a leftover sausage at the young man.  
  
"Hey guys, you mind tellin' me what's so funny?" A certain white- striped belle was framed in the doorway. Remy quickly shut the book. The rest stopped laughing, but looked at her innocently. "No? Well, Remy, you wanna come for a walk then? Ah'm going to pick up the mail."  
  
Remy groaned. "Rogue, you know Remy hates-"  
  
"But you never go outside in the winter! You've been holed up in here for a month!"  
  
"Yeah, but-"  
  
"Fine! You want to waste your time in here, that's fine with me. Ah'm sure Kurt doesn't have a problem with a bit of snow. Right?" Rogue turned her attention quickly, purposefully avoiding eye contact with her lover.  
  
"Ja, if you want." Kurt swung down and somersaulted in a flashy manner. Rogue gave a wry smile.  
  
If it were possible, Remy would have sunk so deep into the armchair that he'd never be able to come out.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Hank was, for the third time that day, cleaning up his bathroom. He'd washed his hands after a particularly nasty experiment, and now the sink was clogged with azure fur. And of course, cleaning the sink meant getting to work on the rest of the room.  
  
While Bellbottoms snuck about and played with the cuffs of his jeans, Hank was busy scrubbing the toilet, cleaning the mirror and re-hanging the shower curtains. He was surprised when Lorna came in, cheeks red, snowflakes caught in her hair. She was beaming.  
  
He looked up at her. "Does this young woman need any assistance with anything?"  
  
"Yeah. Hank, have you seen the hose?"  
  
"The garden shed." He replied simply. "What do you intend to use it for?"  
  
Lorna grinned wickedly. "I'm gonna spray Bobby. He took snowballs a bit too far." Just as she was about to leave, she turned. "Do you need help with that shower curtain?"  
  
No, he didn't, but cleaning the bathroom all alone was no fun. "If you would oblige to aid me."  
  
Today, despite a rough start, was looking as up as the now-hung curtain.  
  
"So, you and Bobby have made amends?"  
  
Lorna nodded, the idea of the garden hose entirely out of her mind. "Yeah. But he seems...a bit different. Like he was waiting for me to admit I've been a bitch."  
  
Hank nodded. He honestly didn't know. He'd only been in love once, with that beautiful news reporter, and she'd never waited on anything from him. He'd been a pit-stop in her life, somewhere off in Arizona, maybe. Enjoyable, but temporary. And then off to God knows where, with postcards.  
  
"That sounds really insane, doesn't it? I mean, like a really bad movie where all they do is bitch about how sad they are or simper about how much they love one another?" She said, sitting on the toilet seat, picking at the stray threads in her scarf.  
  
Hank turned to her, bulky mass belying his grace. The curtain waved slightly. "But you're happy, right?"  
  
"Yes! I mean, I guess." If Hank hadn't seen it before, in the faces of Jean, and of Rogue, and Scott, and Remy and Kurt, he would have been puzzled by the expression in her eyes. But he had seen it before, probably in his own eyes after Trish's pit-stop in Arizona.  
  
Sifting through the ashes looking for embers was just as hard as putting them out. Lorna still ached for Alex, still loved him. And Bobby loved her, but sometimes love wasn't enough to make everything better.  
  
Lorna needed time to heal. She wanted to please Bobby, and he wanted to please her, and in the end they were both forcing it so they could both believe it. They needed some time.  
  
When Lorna left, Hank sat down on the couch where the Discovery Channel was giving a documentary on premature child birth. Bellbottoms sat in his lap, vaguely interested by the squealing babies on the screen. The sound of Bobby's yelps as he was hit by freezing water emanated from outside.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Kurt always was easier to talk to. He never ridiculed, never insulted, just listened and sometimes offered advice. Not the cheap, three dollar advice like "You need some time" and "Just talk it over", but the real, deep advice that actually made a difference. Because sometimes time was a fickle doctor and sometimes talk was the enemy.  
  
"He never goes outside in the winter anymore." Rogue said solemnly, kicking a rock in front of her. "It's like he's afraid of it."  
  
Kurt breathed out, eyes tracing the steam as it swirled away. "He has good reason to."  
  
"But he's takin' it to a whole new level! He'll sleep with at least four blankets on, and it's just crazy, watchin' him stare out the window and knowing he's too damn afraid to go out. Ah thought we were over Antarctica years ago."  
  
"Rogue, I don't think it has anything to do with whether you two are over it or not." Kurt buried his hands deeper in his pockets.  
  
"What're you sayin'? That Ah scarred him for life?" She irately kicked the mailbox post, then walked past it.  
  
"I thought we were just going to get the mail." He asked quietly.  
  
"Just a bit further. Ah want to show you somethin'." The sounds of Bobby and Lorna pelting each other with snowballs rang throughout the air. Rogue walked on, grey coat blended in with the trees and the shadows, white streak lost in the blinding light of the snow. Kurt followed, his dark skin contrast against the brilliance. It was as if he was sucking the light out of the space he occupied. "All this time, and Ah keep thinkin' he's just like a cancer patient. Somethin's wrong and Ah can't stop it."  
  
"It must bring back unpleasant memories, the cold." Kurt looked up, where the sky was a mirror of grey and white.  
  
"Ah know that, but it's just crazy. He's missin' so much. Like this." Rogue grabbed her brother's sleeve and dragged him off the path, through trees and snow as deep as his ankles.  
  
Kurt complained playfully. "Mein schwester, I find nothing spectacular about getting my pants soaked."  
  
"No, this!" She pulled him out into a clearing. A small creek, half- frozen, trickled through the middle. The sun beat down through a small part in the clouds, in between the trees and onto them. For all the world to have, there were diamonds in the snow, catching the light and sending it back. "Kurt, isn't it beautiful?"  
  
Kurt looked around in wonder. Maybe it was his sister's enthusiasm that made it so heavenly, but most likely it was the place itself. He felt guilty, messing up the snow with his big clunky feet. "Ja, it's beautiful." He said, eyes wide as a small bird fluttered away from the branch above him.  
  
"And he's never gonna see it, because by summer it's a big puddle of mud!" Rogue said suddenly, startling the birds.  
  
Kurt looked at her, at the tears that bit the corners of her eyes. He couldn't tell her it wasn't her fault, because it partially was, nor could he tell her that it would fade with time, because he wasn't sure of that. "He's not sick, Rogue. Winter's just a bad time for him." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't necessarily truth.  
  
"Ah know, but why the hell won't he even try?" Rogue swayed a little, biting her lip.  
  
Kurt had no words for this. It was probably better that way. Rogue leaned onto his shoulder.  
  
"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm rather cold out here." Kurt said softly. Rogue looked up at him. Without another word, they left the clearing.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Xavier had probably had some strange idea when he said that they should have a game night every week. Maybe he thought of it as a bonding exercise.  
  
As it was, the rules were very lenient. Every time a different game, no cheating, everyone participated. Tonight, the game of choice was Scrabble. Everyone groaned when Kurt brought in the box and glared pointedly at Hank.  
  
"What, can I help it if I excel in the lingual arts?" He smirked, setting up the board.  
  
"Fine, but we get to be in teams of two against you. Kurt already said he wasn't playin', but can you keep score, sugah?" Rogue beckoned to her foster brother. He nodded.  
  
Remy pulled Rogue's chair out for her. "Remy has his partner, right, chere?"  
  
Rogue smiled. Scott teamed up with his wife and Lorna and Bobby became the other group. Lorna laid down the rules. "You," She pointed to Remy "No French. Anything we can't find in the English dictionary doesn't count. Other than that, regular rules. No using double and triple scores twice, and if you add onto a word it counts for the whole thing."  
  
Scott and Jean were to go first, laying down the word SALAD. Both looked fairly pleased, and Bobby reassured himself that it was only luck.  
  
Hank's 'only luck' gave him the word CATALYST as his opener. From that point on, the game became very lopsided. Hank had words like BELEMNOID and ASPARTAME. Bobby and Lorna's greatest success was PUP.  
  
Tempers started heating up halfway through, when the score was a nice one-forty-three to twelve, fourteen and twenty-one.  
  
It was quickly proved that Remy's lack of education expanded further than basic grammar. He did, however, have an eye for putting letters together.  
  
"Ha! Bourgeois!" He yelled as he arranged the letters, nice and neat, in their little boxes.  
  
"That's not fair! That's not an English word!" Lorna exclaimed. Not that it really mattered, since she and Bobby were at rock-bottom anyway.  
  
Rogue grabbed the Merriam-Webster's Dictionary. "Look, right here!"  
  
"Damn." There it was for Lorna, in plain letters. Bourgeois, noun. Street rabble. French derivative.  
  
Hank tried to keep from bursting into triumphant laughter. "May I expand upon that word?"  
  
Bourgeoisie. Plural form of bourgeois. Kurt chalked up further points for Hank.  
  
"Dat's it, Remy's no good at word games." Remy stood and stalked out of the room. Rogue looked as if to follow him, but realized it would be futile.  
  
Bobby yawned. "Isn't that how these games always end? Someone gets mad and leaves the table?"  
  
Lorna threw her letters in. "If I remember correctly, that was you last time when we played Risk and Kurt stormed Ukraine."  
  
"Yeah, well, I had about three men left anyway. And he had thirty- four." Bobby defended himself.  
  
Rogue rolled her eyes. "That was only after you started making your soldiers walk across the board singin'." She picked up the letter T and started walking it across the table, voice suddenly high-pitched. "All worship Lord Bobby! He is our king! Wheeee!"  
  
It was a surprisingly good imitation, and everyone but Bobby laughed. "You just don't appreciate good humor."  
  
"Hank wins." Kurt said simply. He flipped the chalk between his tail and hands. Hank took a bow while everyone clapped half-heartedly and threw their letters into the box.  
  
They all went that separate ways for the night, Lorna and Bobby heading for one room, Scott and Jean for another, Hank back to the lab, Kurt to his room and Rogue to hers.  
  
"I swear, Hank, you practically live in the lab." Jean had said playfully, leaning into Scott. Then, she was curled deep inside the covers, body warm against her husband's. He smelled the tropical shampoo she had used that morning. He never told her about how that shampoo reeked, but what the hell. She could have her special shampoos.  
  
Rogue came into her room, and was met with the pleasant surprise of Remy crashed out on the bed with only one blanket. He looked an awkward sight, with his feet a bit over the edge and his face buried into a pillow. Softly, she slunk into her own bed and shut off the light.  
  
Down the hall, Kurt was sitting at the edge of his bed, reading an old pirate novel. Further down, Hank was busy working on decoding the genome of a bacteria. Lorna and Bobby were sleeping soundly, one on the couch and one on the small bed. 


	6. Hank's Interlude

Hank's Interlude - Statements and Reasons  
  
...  
  
...  
  
Author's Note: I apologize immensely for the long delay. I had the schedule from Hell (test, projects, math competition and drama performances). Truly, I'll be picking up the loose ends and working hard on this and a few other projects now that that's out of the way. Now go on, imagine Hank as Pepto Bismol pink.  
  
...  
  
...  
  
"Hell will, and always will, involve blow-drying blue fur." ~Hank McCoy  
  
...  
  
...  
  
Of anything you can study in a textbook or learn in a classroom or laboratory, there remains one area that science has yet to understand - the human mind.  
  
You think I'd learn, eventually, that people are irrational and never act according to reason. You think little ol' Hank would figure out just why we act the way we do.  
  
Unfortunately, I have enough trouble understanding why I do the things I do, much less anyone else.  
  
Remy's mad at me. I took his victory away from him at the last minute. He'll get over it; he always does. But it doesn't shake that nagging feeling that I've ostracized myself even further from them all.  
  
The outcast among outcasts among outcasts. Perfect.  
  
It's hard enough being Homo Superior in this backwards world, harder being one of the two 'fuzzy blues'.  
  
Looking in the mirror, I suppose there could be worse colors. I could have ended up - God forbid - some awful shade of Pepto Bismol pink or neon yellow.  
  
Then again, at least I wouldn't get called a Smurf. But there are definitely far worse colors.  
  
I used to walk down the halls, blue, and even a blind and deaf man could have heard the whispers and seen the odd looks. Technically, a blind and deaf man couldn't, but it's an expression, another exaggeration of the English language.  
  
Eventually, through time, the whispers quieted and then stopped. The odd looks became smiles and winks and other friendly gestures. But still, it felt like the singular memory was far more separating than a bulky azure coat could ever be.  
  
For some as-of-yet unknown reason, I feel that odd urge to show off constantly. I imagine it must be slightly irritating. Undoubtedly if I were to take time off and examine some of my characteristics, I'd find it all a bid for acceptance.  
  
A bid for acceptance. Isn't that what human nature is anyway?  
  
You know the thermostat needs to be turned up when the furry guy gets cold walking down the halls. Or maybe that's just Bobby's room.  
  
The other fuzzy blue is down in the Danger Room. I could swear that he never sleeps. Maybe his constant attempts at physical perfection, athletic perfection, are all just one of those infamous bids for acceptance.  
  
He must know that we are currently on our vacation leave, but he's probably the most diligent of us all. He isn't going to let his body go to waste. I figure I will not either.  
  
"Guten nacht." Kurt's tail sways lazily when I enter. I don't think he'll mind if I exercise with him.  
  
"May I join you, Fuzzy Blue?" I ask politely.  
  
He beams. "Of course."  
  
For hours we just practice, strengthen ourselves. Quite honestly, when one sweats in fur, it gets very uncomfortable.  
  
Eventually we shut off the simulation. I feel a swell of pride that my instruments were so successful. I almost say something, then decide against it. There's a pile of towels in the locker room. We both grab some. A few get knocked over, but we both concede that we're way too lazy to pick them up.  
  
"Ach, I could practically wring my tail out!" He laughs and jokes. I suppose that's his answer to being different, much like my interest in the arts and knowledge.  
  
I guess every creature has to sleep, and Kurt does too. He yawns loudly. "I guess the Incredible Nightcrawler will be changing his name to Incredible Sleepwalker, no?"  
  
After giving him a hearty pat on the back, we go our separate ways. I'm going to actually sleep in a bedroom tonight, not lose consciousness on the computer keyboard. I'm getting tired of waking up every day with a nasty case of qwertytis.  
  
Upon going to sleep, I wonder if all our little quirks are attempts to be brought into the fold.  
  
I started sleeping in the lab when Trish left; apparently she couldn't stand a blue, furry boyfriend. The numbers and patterns and sentences on the screen started to mesmerize me once she was gone. I guess knowledge wasn't a bid for acceptance, just a replacement for what I couldn't have. It's not a bad-suited replacement either; I rarely think of her anymore. And when I do, I don't obsess about it. Not like I obsess over genomes and literature and Greek history.  
  
Just maybe, love is dangerous when it doesn't end. It was probably better that we went our separate ways. There's an old myth about the Roman Emperor Heliogabalus, that he suffocated his drunken guests in over a ton of falling rose petals.  
  
Call me crazy, but Hank McCoy is never going to drown beneath rose petals. I'm part of something greater now, a family and a home, but never so cloying and deep that it would interfere with my life and send me into a monotonous pattern. Hello, goodbye, I'm sorry, hello, goodbye, I'm sorry.  
  
No, I'm never going to let life stick me as a cliché. Hank McCoy is not a cliché. 


	7. Those Sweet Desires

Chapter Seven - Broken Chains  
  
Author's Note: My apologies. I've been out of it for a while, and as a result I haven't really done any writing. I'm very sorry. ...  
  
...  
  
Kurt's Observations: "When you have a tail, it's a good idea to watch out for doors."  
  
...  
  
...  
  
"Oh my God!"  
  
Bobby jolted off the couch as Lorna shrieked. "What happened? We under attack?" His combat training instinctively put him in a boxing position.  
  
Trying to regain her wits, Lorna breathed deeply. "Fucking bed!"  
  
"What did they do to the bed?" He looked around confusedly. Blinking against the darkness, he stumbled for the light switch.  
  
"No, the damn bed fell in on me." The light revealed a very irate Lorna, sitting on the mattress, which was now resting on the floor. She blushed. She, Magneto's daughter, was supposed to be used to sudden shocks. Instead, a shaky bed had scared her half to death, in front of her boyfriend. "Goddammit!"  
  
Bobby rubbed his eyes and checked the clock. Middle of the night. Perfect. "You okay?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine, just spooked."  
  
"Is everything alright in there?" Scott's baritone came from behind the door. He didn't open it; he respected their privacy. If neither answered, then he'd break down the door.  
  
Bobby sat down on the mattress. "Yeah, we're all fine."  
  
"You scared the shit out of us, Drake."  
  
The disapproving note in his voice was not lost on either of them. "We're fine, Scott." Lorna confirmed. "It was just the bed."  
  
"The bed screamed?" A Southern drawl asked skeptically.  
  
"No, the bed fell in." Bobby put an arm around Lorna's shoulder protectively, though he himself didn't know why. She leaned into him.  
  
Rogue continued. "You scared the hell out of me."  
  
Bobby rolled his eyes. "Yes, Rogue, we know we scared the hell out of you guys. We're sorry already."  
  
Masked by the door, Rogue grumbled. "You better be. You woke me up."  
  
"C'mon, Rogue." Scott took her hand - gloved, of course - and led her down the hall.  
  
"Ah don't need to be mollycoddled, O Fearless." She growled at him. She was not a night person. "It's not like mah room is more than twenty feet away."  
  
She yanked her hand from his grasp and retreated to her room. Scott ignored her behavior and returned to his bed, where Jean was trying to go back to sleep. The redhead scooted to her side of the bed for her husband.  
  
What, now they had different sides of the bed? Scott slumped down and threw the covers onto himself. Pouting playfully, Jean stole the blanket and wrapped herself up in it. Scott scowled, but it was in jest.  
  
No, he could never be mad at Jean. She batted her eyelashes and rolled over. Scott smiled behind her back.  
  
...  
  
...  
  
"You wanna...?"  
  
Lorna looked at him curiously. "Sleep together?"  
  
Bobby flushed red. "On the couch in a clean way, I mean."  
  
"Oh." Lorna patted the mattress casually. "Good, because the damn bed busted my ass."  
  
He grinned and twirled a lock of forest hair around his finger. She slapped his hand. "Stop that!"  
  
"So are we just gonna stay up talking all night? We'll be zombies by morning."  
  
"Either zombies or stiff as boards. Your feet are like skis." Lorna smirked and flopped down on the couch. "And I would know."  
  
He looked down at her. She looked so childlike, so young and innocent. Her eyes gazed affectionately at him. "You gonna move your legs or am I going to have to sleep on top of them?"  
  
"Your ugly butt? You'd break them." She tucked her legs beneath her. He sat down delicately.  
  
Within the hour, Lorna was splayed peacefully across the edge of the couch. The armrest that had functioned as a pillow had seemingly migrated to her waist. Her hair brushed the floor softly. Bobby had curled up at the other end, avoiding her prodding toes. He'd swiped all the covers from her, but she didn't notice.  
  
Bobby felt guilty about the bed. He thought he'd fixed it last time. He knew he'd be working at it again tomorrow. The idea of it falling out from under her again scared him. The idea of breaking her next time scared him.  
  
...  
  
...  
  
Remy woke up to a nasty combination of his alarm clock and a sound he recognized only as Hank singing opera in the shower. Even worse, he slammed his hand into the corner of the nightstand instead of the clock. Cursing, he sat up and knocked the offending item off the table.  
  
He groaned. Hank was butchering some poor, innocent song. And where was Rogue? Rubbing his hand, he looked around the room, then at the clock on the floor. Almost noon. Had he really slept that late?  
  
A quick shower helped him regain his senses. He sauntered downstairs, trying to appear as if he'd been up all morning. It was a vain attempt, since Jean shot him a chastising glare.  
  
"Jean, chere, what's for breakfast?" He asked as charmingly as possible.  
  
"You missed it." She smirked at the downfallen look on his face. "And it was nice, spicy chicken wings too."  
  
She continued as he looked more and more dejected. "They were so good. Scott and Hank just wolfed them down. Rogue said they were the best she ever tasted."  
  
"Even better den mine?" He asked sadly.  
  
"I'm afraid so." Jean turned to the cabinet so he couldn't see her holding back laughter.  
  
"Wait, you didn' have chicken wings for breakfast." He narrowed his eyes at her. "I'd smell 'em!"  
  
Jean laughed. "You're right, you just missed oatmeal." She swept into the pantry and threw a box of graham crackers out at him. "Honestly, who eats chicken wings for breakfast?"  
  
Remy wrinkled his nose at the box. "Remy used to."  
  
Jean quirked her eyebrows and opened a window. "It's nice out today." She stated simply. "Very nice out. Not even that cold."  
  
"Please, chere, don't try no psychotherapy on me." Remy looked at her with an expression between imploring and suspicion. Jean sighed and slammed the window a bit harder than she'd intended.  
  
"Sorry." She sat down next to him. "It's just that you and Rogue-"  
  
Remy glared. "Not your affair, petite."  
  
"-You've been making her nervous." She finished softly. He looked away and started ripping open the graham cracker box. "She thinks something might be wrong."  
  
"Cracker?" He passed one over his shoulder and glanced apologetically at her. "Dey're cinnamon."  
  
Jean grabbed the cracker and crushed it in her fist. "Aren't you listening to a damn word I'm saying?"  
  
It was his turn to sigh. "Rogue talk to you about this?"  
  
Jean indicated to her head. "I don't intentionally sneak into people's heads, but sometimes they give off such strong thoughts..."  
  
"Then don' try to go sneakin' about in our business either. Really, Jean, Remy's fine." Despite the accusing note in his voice, he tried to say it as politely and reassuringly as he could.  
  
She laid a hand on his shoulder. "Just remember that we're here for you."  
  
He held back the urge to shoot a sarcastic comment back. Then again, if she could pick up thoughts like she said, she could tell anyway.  
  
"Merci, Jean." He placed his hand on hers for a second, then stood up. She knew he wasn't really thanking her, just looking for an excuse out of the uncomfortable situation.  
  
"I'll make some coffee."  
  
He walked out. "Nah, thanks, but I'm fine."  
  
"Suit yourself." Jean grabbed a magazine and sat, legs daintily crossed, at the table. She wasn't actually reading it. She was thinking over the words that had gone unspoken, unheard, unwritten in the previous conversation. They still hung in the air like dust motes, visible but intangible. If they were always there for him, where had they been during the single time that he'd needed them most?  
  
...  
  
...  
  
Lorna woke up with her lips at veritable war. Cold sores and cankers had sprung up at the corners of her mouth. Running her fingers over her aching lower lip, she walked over to the bathroom for some much needed antibiotics.  
  
From the crack down the center, she'd been picking them again, though she was damned if she could recall any exact instant. That was unusual. Normally she only picked at them during times of extreme stress. It brought her temporary, subconscious relief to cleanse and tear, to feel the blood running just beneath the pink surface. After Genosha, she'd torn at them with a vengeance. After learning the infamous Magneto was her father, she'd been in pleasurable agony for weeks. And after Alex had...she didn't want to think about Alex, but she'd nearly ripped herself a new mouth.  
  
But nothing extreme had happened. So why were they in such a bad state?  
  
She looked back at the couch, where Bobby was snoring. Was it him? Secretly, she harbored a slight resent that he might possibly have caused this pain. She knew it wasn't his fault; it was just her nerves, her problems, her imperfections.  
  
Her flaws. She didn't want to think about them.  
  
She reminded herself that snoring wasn't incredibly endearing either.  
  
...  
  
...  
  
Since when did people put a price on faith?  
  
If there was anything that irritated Kurt, it was the Christian Self- Help section of the local bookstore. Handbooks titled "The Answers" and "Is Your Prayer the Right Prayer?" were organized neatly, aligned in all their scamming glory. Most cost more than a dictionary, and they were about the size of a Reader's Digest. He half-expected them to goose-step across the table, ordering him to change his type of worship and 'search for his deeper self', whatever that meant.  
  
"Find anything?" Scott asked, pawing through a book of motorcycle know-how.  
  
"Nein." Kurt said, nervously tapping his inducer-watch. Being in this large, crowded place made him instinctively anxious. "And you?"  
  
Scott put his book down and grabbed another. "Nah."  
  
Kurt leaned against the table and cast a few glances around. Despite the swirling mass of shoppers, he still could pinpoint his friends. Rogue was sitting on the floor, holding a group of romance novels hostage. Lorna and Bobby were paying more attention to irritating the cashier than to the small stack of merchandise they were purchasing. Hank was pouring over the pages of a book whose name Kurt couldn't even pronounce.  
  
"Why does she always have to get them the instant they come out? Can't she wait for paperback?" Scott moaned as he looked at the books he'd gotten for his wife. "Jeez, why does she want this one?"  
  
The German shrugged. "Should we go?" He wasn't comfortable being surrounded by so many people. Any second now his inducer might go off, and then God only knew what could follow.  
  
Scott nodded. He didn't want any more little children pointing out his sunglasses. "I'll go get the two lovebirds and Hank. You get Rogue."  
  
Rogue had seemingly immersed herself in number of novels simultaneously. Whether she was reading, skimming or just turning pages for the hell of it was beyond Kurt.  
  
"Rogue? We're going." Kurt crouched down and looked at some of the books.  
  
"'Kay, Ah'm comin'." She mumbled and shoved the books back onto the shelf haphazardly. He saw a flash of "Gone With the Wind" being tossed into the pile.  
  
She looked over at Lorna and Bobby, faces bright like they were in high school. "Ah'll bet you ten bucks they don't last another week."  
  
Kurt looked at her in surprise. "What makes you say that?"  
  
She shrugged. "Just a hunch."  
  
...  
  
...  
  
Thanking God for SUV's, Scott clambered into the driver's seat. At least the three rows kept them reasonably parted, and if he had any more of Lorna and Bobby clamping to each other like limpets he'd feel nauseous. Had he really been that bad when he was flirting with Jean? Bobby had irately pointed that out earlier.  
  
"Why aren't you like that anymore?" Lorna had said accusingly. Scott hadn't had an answer. He didn't know himself. He couldn't answer why his precious, redheaded darling wasn't the center of his life anymore.  
  
Nor could he answer when she had stopped being his every other thought. Sometime, but he couldn't pinpoint an exact day or even year.  
  
Rogue was busy chatting to Lorna about the latest movies (none of which Scott had seen or even intended to see). The two fuzzy blues were involved in a playful debate of which was better, claws or a tail. Bobby was simultaneously trying to sneak his hand over to Lorna's rear end and open a CD case at the same time.  
  
Rogue blew his cover. "Face it, Bobby, men can't multi-task."  
  
Kurt rooted through one of their grocery bags. "The clerk, he didn't think it odd that we bought eight bottles of shampoo?"  
  
"Nah." Bobby said nonchalantly, his hand barely an inch from Lorna's behind. "Just tell them your roommate has a teenage daughter."  
  
At that moment, Lorna shrieked and slapped the intrusive appendage. Bobby recoiled and rubbed life back into his stinging hand. She glared.  
  
Scott had looked back to see what the racket was about. He glared at Drake too. Nobody was supposed to do that to a lady. He'd never do that to Jean. When was the last time he'd done anything even close to that to Jean?  
  
Midlife crisis. That had to be it. He'd get over it. He still loved her, devoted himself to her, worshipped her in her divine grace and beauty. There was just glass between them for the while.  
  
He'd talk to her.  
  
...  
  
...  
  
"We make a good team." Remy leaned back in his chair, surveying their work. Rolls, chicken, artichokes and soup, enough for the entire group and then some. Wouldn't they be happy when they found that dinner had already been made? Especially Rogue. Roguie would be glad he hadn't wasted the day.  
  
"Saves them a load of trouble. Stick it in the oven." His 'partner in crime', Jean, wiped flour from her hands. "You wouldn't mind if I skipped dinner, would you?"  
  
He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Por quoi?"  
  
A mischievous glint came into her eyes, but it was only masking a bit lip. "I think Scotty and I will just take it up to our room. Have some fun, you know?" She lied.  
  
"It'll be awful. You'll miss playing Trivial Pursuit with Hank." He remarked wryly, placing the concoctions in the oven. A friendly crinkle emerged between her eyebrows as she laughed. The sound of a car pulling into the driveway reached their ears.  
  
"And God knows that will be fascinating." She grinned. In another room, a door opened.  
  
"Hey y'all, we're home!" Rogue called and walked in, a plastic bag with eight shampoo bottles slung over her shoulder. "You didn't miss us too much, did y- do Ah smell somethin'?"  
  
The rest filed in, parcels and packages abundant, and sniffed the air. The scent of food was unmistakable. Kurt looked about curiously. "Did you two make something?"  
  
"We were going to say surprise, but you figured it out first." Jean shrugged and pulled dinner out of the oven. Hank visibly licked his lips and Rogue's eyes lit up like a city block on a power surge. The rest all smiled and spread thanks to their two 'chefs'.  
  
Rogue took control. "Instead o' standin' here, why don't we actually eat it? Wash your hands, y'all!"  
  
A matter of minutes later they were all getting seated around the table, though Rogue used a wet towel as a whip to keep Remy from swiping food early.  
  
"But, chere, Remy made it, doesn't he get to eat it?"  
  
Scott was about to sit down when Jean grabbed him by shoulder. He looked at her in surprise. Telepathically filling him in, she led him upstairs, carrying some of the food with her.  
  
"Ah'll give you this, lover-boy, you know how t' surprise a girl." Rogue grinned.  
  
"Yeah, Rogue was betting that you'd still be asleep!" Lorna called.  
  
Kurt lay his fork down. "Grace, everybody." Though less than half of the room was Christian, the bowed their heads and closed their eyes. As usual, Kurt started them off. Thanks for the food, thanks for friends and family, the usual.  
  
One eye open, Remy watched quietly. Family? Next to him, Rogue fidgeted. He figured that she qualified as more than that.  
  
...  
  
...  
  
"Scott..." Jean sighed as she sat cross-legged on the bed. He stood at the closed door, hand still on the knob. "Scott, lately..."  
  
"Must be a winter thing, huh?" His shoulders hung.  
  
"Lately you and I have been distant." She concluded, putting a plate on the nightstand.  
  
Scott sighed this time. "Yeah."  
  
Jean's eyes seemed to burn a hold right through him and the door beyond. "Can you tell me why?"  
  
He twitched his finger nervously. "Why don't you just reach into my head-"  
  
"I don't want to-"  
  
"-And just listen for a bit, Jean?"  
  
The slight tickle behind his ears told him she had obliged.  
  
A tear started to form in her deep green eye. She bit her lip, and the crinkle from laughter came, but not out of mirth. "You know I would never do that."  
  
Scott shuddered. He couldn't help thinking it; just the memory of her flirting with Logan, the thoughts of her separating herself, the very idea that she wasn't a possession of his - it shook his very foundation.  
  
She continued. "You honestly think I would be like that?" Her cheeks flushed to the softest rose hue.  
  
He turned slowly, to see her sitting on the bed, fighting tears, bathed in the lamp light. So emotional. So much deeper than he was. "Jean, it's just that I...you're so perfect and I...Goddammit, I..."  
  
"You think you aren't worthy? How can you say that, Scotty? How can you even think for a second that you aren't enough?"  
  
He didn't show any feeling besides the light tremble of his lip. "Jean, you could have anyone you ever wanted! Why did you choose a-"  
  
"What Logan calls you doesn't mean anything." She said softly. The tear glazed her eye, but didn't fall. She had more control than that.  
  
Scott moaned. He was crazy, that was what she was telling him. Psychiatrists probably had some psycho-babble that described, "inferiority complex" or something to that effect. Strange, he though he'd been the sane one on the team.  
  
"Jean." He whispered, crawling onto the bed. "Jean, you mean you never-"  
  
"Only you, Scotty." She whispered back. "Only you."  
  
She was driving him crazy and she was making him sane. "It's been a while, then?"  
  
She laughed quietly and wiped her eyes. "You men are so horny." She lay down beside him. "You think it's going to be all better then? That I can forgive you for even thinking that about me?"  
  
He didn't know her at all. He had to admit that. He shook his head in defeat.  
  
"It's a start." She soothed and played with the buttons on his collar until each one was undone. His hand roved to her blouse, and she accepted his invitation. A motion turned the lamp off, and the room receded into slick darkness.  
  
Her fingers played unheard music across his jaw line, along his cheeks, his neck, his chest. His hands explored the forgotten territories of her shoulders, her hips, her waist and her perfect breasts. In the dark, two flowers bloomed, open and receiving to each other.  
  
The sweat was almost sickeningly sweet, but still a nectar of the gods. Smiling in the dark, where nobody saw and nobody told, they met. Both sacred, hidden, forgotten, locked with their respective keys. But she had opened the gates and let him in again.  
  
...  
  
...  
  
Later, on their entwined hands, two bands of gold glistened. They shone brightly, no longer obligations or responsibilities, but symbiotic partners.  
  
...  
  
...  
  
Bobby wasn't sure why he even bothered anymore. He should have just gotten up and left when the words left her lips.  
  
Her sleeping, though, was too innocent to condemn. She hadn't meant the words she'd said. She had no idea she'd even said them.  
  
So he stayed, her head resting quietly on his chest, her hand pressed against his heart as if in any second she could plunge her nails into it. Her delicate body lay on top of him. Her weight didn't even bother him. It was that on every other exhalation, he could have sworn he heard a name.  
  
Why didn't he just leave? Why did every second she was thinking of Alex seem like it triggered these awful thoughts about her, about that bastard, about himself?  
  
He should have just slept on the goddamn bed, broken or not. Then he wouldn't be hearing her whisper names out to the secretive night. He wouldn't be thinking about it in the first place.  
  
Next time he had the chance, he'd ask Hank for some sleeping drugs.  
  
"Alex..." She moaned softly, yet unmistakably. He grimaced. And for a few days he'd thought he'd had it good, hadn't he?  
  
For a few blissfully ignorant days, he'd had it good.  
  
...  
  
...  
  
Steinbeck. Guaranteed tearjerker. "Of Mice and Men" especially.  
  
Remy didn't complain. Rogue certainly didn't want to watch anything with hula-dancing, grass-skirted blonde pygmy ninjas, and he'd have to be tied to a chair with his eyelids glued open to sit through "Gone With the Wind". At the end, they'd chosen randomly.  
  
She had curled up against his arm, occasionally commenting on the film. His eyelids fluttered with drowsiness. She was far more interested than he was. Hadn't they seen this movie last week?  
  
He did, however, pay special attention to her. Her butterfly breaths tickled the edge of his sleeve. When she spoke, her eyebrows usually raised just a little. She was beautiful. Had he been able, he'd take her face, cup it lovingly in his hands, and give her a kiss to end all kisses.  
  
Alas, it was not so. He put a protective arm around her as the end approached. Though he was eagerly waiting for the movie to be over, he was never immune to the ending.  
  
She almost giggled. Ever since she'd made that comment about how handsome Gary Sinise looked, he'd been inching closer and closer to her, almost possessively. It made her feel warmer inside, but she'd never admit it to him. Half the fun was keeping him guessing.  
  
Watching the ending, her tears began to roll. There was no shame in admitting weakness about a movie, especially such a heartbreaking one. She could have sworn she heard him sniff, and he moved his hand up to his face and wiped his eyes.  
  
When it was over and credits began to roll, they went up to bed. As was usual, Remy piled the blankets on top of himself and burrowed beneath them. Rogue sat on top of hers, looking out the window. A single star - the north one, she figured - was glittering. Stars didn't feel pain, did they? Then why did everyone look up to them? Because they didn't?  
  
Wish she may, wish she might. She wished he could get over his fear of the cold. She wished it hadn't been her doing. She wished she wasn't the guilty one anymore. She wished she could take him out there and share the winter with him.  
  
She sighed. She must have been wishing on the wrong star. 


	8. Rogue's Interlude

Rogue's Interlude - Some Things are Better Cold  
  
...  
  
...  
  
"The first thing you should know about me is that I am not and was never a morning person." Rogue  
  
...  
  
...  
  
I think I need to get out now.  
  
It's really late out. My vision is still blurry from just waking up, so I can't read the clock. The damn cat decided to sleep on my face and I woke up spitting fur. I'm ready to just kick the furball out, no matter what Lorna says. I hate that thing.  
  
There's a large pile of blankets on the other bed. Gee, I wonder who that is. Or if he's even under there. I honestly can't tell.  
  
God, I want a coffee flavored milkshake right about now. Is Baskin Robbins open? I don't know or care, so I slip off my nightgown and put on some jeans and a sweater. I was thinking about going out in a T-shirt or something light just to tick Remy off, but even I know it's cold out there. The sweater has some god-awful teddy bears stitched into it. I must have gotten it for Christmas or something, because there's no way in hell I'd ever buy it myself.  
  
The gloves. Black ones, the ones I keep by the bed just in case. I put a bandanna on just for a wilder feel and wonder if ice-cream shops have "No shoes, no shirt, no service" policies. What the hell, I just stuff on some boots and wonder if Remy would be mad or just terrified if I left the window open. Deciding against it, I close the door as I leave the room. From the muffled snoring I'm hearing from under that mountain of covers, he's still asleep in there.  
  
Walking down the halls, I remind myself to tell Scott to get his damn shoes out of the hallways. A few days ago Remy tripped on them and went down the steps, and God only knows if he'll suddenly declare himself afraid of stairs.  
  
Maybe I should ask Kurt to come too. He's usually up at this time.  
  
Never mind. I need some time alone anyway.  
  
The night air is very refreshing, life stepping out of a warm, damp shell into cool, dry place. Like walking around without gloves. It's a bit cold out; I should have brought a scarf or something. My neck's bare, soft, cold and vulnerable, and I don't really like that feeling.  
  
Flying is a relief, though. It's freedom. I take off my gloves and bandanna when I'm up high and look down on the city, shining like it's mirroring the stars. There's something incredible about seeing the city lights from this high up, all those little golden specks like grains of glowing sand.  
  
I fly on down to the Baskin Robbins and hope nobody saw me. After checking that I'm not going to get hit by any cars, I land in the drive- through of a Starbucks by the little machine that takes your order. Before I walk in, I put my gloves and bandanna back on.  
  
The person behind the counter looks like she could really use some sleep right now.  
  
"Could Ah have...?" My eyes dart up to the board. "Could Ah have a Mocha Swirl Twist?" I finish. She looks at me blearily and nods, and I realize just how odd it is to be ordering ice cream at one a.m. Then again, they're the geniuses with the twenty-four seven policies.  
  
While she's getting it, I sit at one of the tables next to the freezer and tap on the table (conveniently decorated grey-white, blue and purple with a gaudy pink border). It's cold next to the freezer, and I'm so damn sick of it being seventy degrees in the mansion. I go back up and grab my food, pay her, thank her kindly and all that, then come back.  
  
I take a long gulp and relish it. It's ice-cold.  
  
Dear God, what am I supposed to do now? Winter doesn't end for another few months. Remy staying inside all day and night is driving me crazy! Nobody else seems to mind or notice, except Jean, and that was probably because she was taking a stroll through my head. Maybe it's just me. Maybe it's not really getting any worse, just staying the same and not getting any better. It's like a dripping tap in the middle of the night. It doesn't get louder, but it keeps you up and drives you out of your mind.  
  
What can I do? I ain't no time-traveler, I ain't no brain-washer, and I sure as hell ain't no angel. I've made my mistakes, and I've fucking apologized for them. Those apologies took more out of me than I thought they would, and it's still not enough, and it can never be enough. I'm not even going to pretend it can be enough. It can't.  
  
I use a spoon to get the bottom out. Hell, it's just melted, tan liquid now. I go and order another.  
  
I'm not a helpless person. But sometimes, I don't know what to do anymore.  
  
After getting a pre-packed quart of rainbow sherbet (Bobby's favorite), I go out onto the curb and watch this group of teenagers. They think they're real hot shit, breaking their curfew and playing the stereo in the middle of the night. One of them sees me and points. I ignore him and walk down the street, waiting until I'm out of sight to fly away.  
  
I can only spend so much time in the air before the ice-cream melts, but I use my time to make a complete idiot of myself diving and looping in the cool night air. It's fun, it's free, and nobody is there to see. Nobody there to touch, nobody there to hurt.  
  
I float and land on the barely snowy lawn, making sure to stop flying about three feet off the ground so I stumble and fall over. Laughing, I wonder why the hell I feel so giddy, and I guess it must be a bad mixture of solitude, the dark, cold ice-cream against my breast and falling on the lawn.  
  
Smiling devilishly, I open the top of the sherbet and run my finger over the top, getting a big glob. It's still freezing cold slithering down my throat. Twisting the top back on, I grin to no one.  
  
Some things are just better cold. 


	9. Chew Your Pain

Chapter Nine – Chew Your Pain  
  
... ...  
  
A/N. Profuse apologies for the lack of updates. I'm so very sorry. I just realized that I've only updated twice in three months. By the way, I'm going to be entering X-Day 2004 (community X-Men fanart and fanfiction competition), and if you see anything of mine, either in art or fanfiction, that you think I should enter, please tell me.  
  
A/N 2. Title of this chapter is from the Sister Hazel song "Your Winter", specifically the line, "Why do you chew your pain?".  
  
...  
  
...  
  
"Remy gets rather agitated when we refer to him as the Prince of the Lollipop Guild." -Kurt's Thoughts  
  
...  
  
...  
  
Kurt woke to commotion. The crashing sound of pots and pans and Scott's voice jarred any chance of sleep away immediately.  
  
"Aw, c'mon Scott, it's just a little mouse!" Bobby seemed to be in hysterics.  
  
"It's not the mouse I'm worried about! Aw, Christ!"  
  
Kurt rubbed the back of his head and got dressed. As he was straightening a crick out of his tail, the sound died down. He could still hear Bobby chortling downstairs, and Remy too, apparently.  
  
He might as well find out what it was.  
  
When he reached the kitchen, the first sight that met him was Scott nursing a bleeding arm and a chair in front of the cupboard. The first sound he heard, besides Bobby and Remy's laughter, was scratching inside the cupboard and a prominent hiss.  
  
Kurt looked between the three men and the cupboard. "Is that the cat...?"  
  
"What about my cat?" Everyone in the room jumped as a murderous- looking Lorna walked in. Even the cupboard seemed to fall silent. "What did you guys do to my cat?"  
  
"Well, uh..." Scott hid his arm behind his back, Bobby slid himself over to the fridge, pretending to look for the orange juice and Remy suddenly became very interested in the wood of the table.  
  
"Where's Bellbottoms?" This time it wasn't really a question as much as a demand. Kurt shrugged.  
  
At this point the cupboard began to make noise again. Blushing, Scott kicked the chair away and the enraged tabby sped out.  
  
Fists as her sides and eyes wild, Lorna woke the entire mansion. "What the fuck did you do that to my cat for?!"  
  
Bobby was a world-class babbler, when the need arose. "There was a mouse in the kitchen and it crawled up Scott's pants and the cat attacked him and see it got him too and it wouldn't get off him so we locked it in the cupboard-"  
  
"Couldn't you have just locked it out of the room?" Kurt asked, and all three culprits glared at him in betrayal.  
  
Lorna's every word was punctuated by her jabbing a fiercely pointed finger in each of their general directions. "Next time you decide to torment a poor, defenseless animal-"Remy coughed into his hand. "-I will personally rip your limbs off and use them as golf clubs!"  
  
With that, she stormed out, calling for her 'kitty-kit-kit-kitty'.  
  
Kurt found it oddly interesting how a single woman could instill such fear in three grown men. Then again, wasn't that the way it always was?  
  
Remy was more interested in another fact. To Bobby, he said, "I didn't know Lorna golfed."  
  
...  
  
...  
  
"You gettin' the mail?" Rogue asked. "S'usually mah job."  
  
"I just thought since I was out here anyway, I'd pick it up." Bobby gazed out at the snow around him. "I like winter. It's like a big family reunion." He hugged himself jokingly.  
  
"You and your fellow snowballs?" She laughed.  
  
He winked cheekily. "Home away from home. Wanna walk with me?"  
  
She nodded, smiling. Inside she hurt.  
  
Her black boots and his bare feet left prints in the snow. Rogue kept looking down at his toes, pink and flushed with cold. There were two things that made her keep looking at them. The first, the blatant exposure or soft, bare skin. The second, the obvious immunity to cold.  
  
Why was it impossible for her to have neither in her life?  
  
His voice jolted her back to reality, away from sweet fantasies. "So, how're you doing?"  
  
"Hmm?" They'd started to veer off the trail. "Okay, Ah guess. And you?" She asked, for the sake of covering her lie.  
  
"Fine." He said. She saw through his bluff as easily as he saw through hers.  
  
The mansion had disappeared behind the trees. They were up to their shins in snow, and neither minded.  
  
"Rogue? Can I, uh, tell you something? Since we're friends and all?" He looked nervous and guilty. It was an awkward expression for him, usually the jester, the entertaining little clown. The joker for other's benefit was asking for a favor. Then again, the jokes had always been for himself as well.  
  
Rogue looked around at her surroundings. This was her place, the most beautiful spot in the winter. Bobby wasn't the one she wanted beside her now.  
  
But it was also the perfect place to comfort a friend, without distraction and with only bright light and birdsong around them.  
  
"Yeah, sure."  
  
Bobby created a bench of ice for them to sit on. "It's about Lorna."  
  
She'd figured as much.  
  
"You know, at night..." He continued. "At night she still calls for Alex."  
  
Rogue nodded. Bobby looked at her expectantly, waiting for an answer. When she kept silent, he went on almost dejectedly. "I can't help feeling that if Alex ever came...if he ever came back, she wouldn't even look at me twice again."  
  
Rogue listened and bit her lip to keep herself from speaking her mind. She held his hand in hers, rubbing the back with her thumb. The fabric of her gloves was soft against his skin.  
  
He bowed his head sadly. "What do I do to make her really love me? Like I love her?"  
  
"Bobby, what Alex did to her was just plain cruel. But if she loves him still...Ah don't really know if you can ever break that." She caught herself as she realized that she wasn't really talking about Bobby as much as she thought,  
  
"So you're telling me to give up?" He pulled his hand from her and stood up.  
  
She was slightly startled by his suddenly defensive attitude. "Ah'm just sayin'-"  
  
"You think I should just give up! You think it's a hopeless case!" He shouted and the birds fell quiet. Then he sneered at her maliciously, in a way she had never seen from him before. "Well, fuck you! You want a hopeless case, just look in a goddamned mirror, your boyfriend won't even eat ice cream he's so damn afraid of the cold-"  
  
"That's not true!" She stood and screamed at him. "That's not true!"  
  
"-Because of YOU, Rogue! Me and Lorna, ha! We aren't the ones who're fucked up here! That's you two!"  
  
"SHUT UP! That's not true and you fucking know it's not true!" But in the back of her head, it was.  
  
He threw his hands up in a picture of mock surrender, suddenly sinisterly calm. "You know what? Fine, I shouldn't have talked to you in the first place. That's like the blind leading the blind." He walked away, bare feet crunching the snow beneath him and quick breaths rising in heated steam.  
  
She didn't call after him. She didn't seize the last word. She let it fall like a slip of paper from her hands.  
  
"You're wrong, you're wrong..." she whispered into her chest. Tears stung her eyes but didn't fall.  
  
It was a full ten minutes before the birds started singing again. By that time, Rogue had disappeared into the forest.  
  
...  
  
...  
  
Hank was quite happily immersed in his computer when Remy and Kurt came calling. At first he found it odd, since Remy and Kurt were never really that close (largely because they loved the same woman, for different reasons, and both knew different sides of her).  
  
"Hank?" Hank didn't mean to look like he was ignoring them, but he needed to close his programs.  
  
"Hank, cut de antisocial crap and talk to us!"  
  
He spun around in his computer chair to face them. "I am most certainly not antisocial!"  
  
"Prove it." Remy challenged.  
  
Kurt interjected. "We've organized a 'night out' for the guys."  
  
Hank looked at them skeptically. "And you're inviting me?"  
  
"Nah, we just came over here to tease ya about it. Of course we're invitin' ya."  
  
He smiled. "Well, then, count me in."  
  
...  
  
...  
  
Go figure. There wasn't any milk left.  
  
"Lorna, we're going to have to do with cream."  
  
Lorna made a face. Jean gave her a cup of coffee. Lorna skimmed through the paper. "Says there's a sale at Macy's again."  
  
"I hate Macy's."  
  
"You hate Macy's?"  
  
"Loathe, detest, abhor Macy's." Jean stirred her coffee. Lorna flipped to the crossword and grabbed a pen off the counter. "Last time I was there the cashier was the biggest bigot I'd ever seen."  
  
Lorna filled in a slot in the crossword and sipped her coffee. Why was it so bitter? Usually she loved it that way. "Hey, want to go out tonight? If Bobby makes me watch one more Saturday Night Live rerun I swear to God I'll lose it."  
  
"Sure thing, but I don't think Bobby's going to be around anyway. The boys are planning something tonight. Rogue too?"  
  
"I guess." It would be lonely in the mansion without them, wouldn't it? "Where is she, anyway?"  
  
The redhead washed her empty cup in the sink. "Don't know. I haven't seen her since this morning."  
  
"Speaking of missing people, have you seen Bobby?"  
  
"Didn't he go out to get the mail?"  
  
Lorna shrugged and brought her coffee cup to her lips, but she didn't drink it. It was just too bitter.  
  
...  
  
...  
  
Scarf slung loosely over her shoulder, Rogue returned. She didn't see Bobby on the way back, nor did she return cheerfully. Her eyes were strange and wandering, desperate and sad.  
  
"You go get Scotty. I'll deal wit' de Snowman." Remy and Kurt were still prowling the halls. Rogue stole up behind them and tapped Remy on the shoulder. "Oh, hey chere!"  
  
"Remy, can Ah talk to you?"  
  
He looked slightly confused, either by the distant tone in her voice or by the notion. "Yeah, anytime."  
  
"Alone?" She glanced at Kurt, who took the hint, nodded to Remy and went off to find Scott.  
  
"What's botherin' ya?"  
  
She bit her lip before she asked the question, knowing it was a painful one for both. "Can Ah talk to you...outside?"  
  
A look of panic crossed his face. He stepped backwards instinctively, and that drove an emotional knife into her. "No, no, Rogue. I hate it out dere."  
  
Her eyes sparkled sadly as she grabbed his hand. "Please? Please, for me?"  
  
Trapped because he hated to see her pain, trapped because he hated the cold, trapped because she wouldn't let go, he held her hand back. "Okay, but jus' for a little while."  
  
...  
  
...  
  
"Herr Drake, will you not answer your door?" Kurt was on the verge of pounding the smooth wood just to get Bobby's attention. Maybe he should have left this to Remy.  
  
Bobby answered angrily. "I'm sleeping, dammit!"  
  
Kurt highly doubted that, both because Bobby had been out getting the mail earlier this morning and because he had to be awake to shout.  
  
"Bobby, I am waiting for you." He glared at the door, as if Bobby could see that anyway.  
  
"Is he being a sulky kid again?" Scott had been passing through the halls when he'd witnessed the unusual occurrence of the German getting angry.  
  
"Ja. He locked the door."  
  
Scott shrugged, putting his hands in the pockets of his khakis. "Let me try. Hey, Drake!"  
  
"Go away! I'm sleeping!"  
  
Scott twisted the doorknob. "Do you always sleep with the door locked?"  
  
Darkly, "yes!".  
  
"Okay, but I need to do some mandatory room inspection." He winked to Kurt and whispered to him that Xavier had given him the school keys. They could hear Bobby muttering grumpily on the other side.  
  
"I'm coming in now!" Scott pushed the key in and opened the door slowly.  
  
Bobby was sitting on his bed, arms embracing legs, bare feet pointing ahead, and staring out the window. His purple-tinted sunglasses were perched on the top of his head, holding back his hair. He didn't turn around when the two men entered. He didn't even twitch.  
  
"Are you okay?" Kurt walked almost to the wall to see the Snowman's face. His eyes were reddened.  
  
Scott stayed to the back, knowing that Kurt was much more adept at the comfort-situation.  
  
"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." Bobby turned around to look at them. A lock of light brown hair slipped from behind the glasses and fell in front of his eyes.  
  
Kurt sat down in the beanbag chair, theatrically sighing in comfort and prompting an appreciative snort from Scott. Bobby smiled half- heartedly.  
  
"You're sure you are fine?"  
  
Bobby shrugged and his smile faded slightly. "Yeah, I said I'm fine. Why did you guys have to bust into my room?"  
  
Kurt explained. "Well, we were organizing a little get together for all the men, and I was hoping you would like to come with us."  
  
Bobby raised an eyebrow. "You barged into my room to ask me about that?"  
  
"Is that a no?" Kurt looked disappointed.  
  
Scott opened the door to leave. "Well, Kurt, I doubt it's a yes."  
  
"Close the door behind you." The younger man said cruelly.  
  
The blue-furred mutant sighed softly and followed Scott out. As he started to close the door behind him, he left a final comment.  
  
"By the way, mein freund, I am sorry about the cat. I was not trying to get you in trouble with Lorna."  
  
The door didn't make a sound as it closed.  
  
...  
  
...  
  
Rogue could feel him tense his hand the instant they set foot outside. Remy shuddered and bit his lip, but kept walking forward with her along the path.  
  
As soon as the snow came to his ankles, though, he stopped. She took a few steps forward with him, silently telling him to keep coming. He stayed where he was, seemingly fused to the ground by his feet.  
  
"Why are we doin' dis?" He asked, wrapping his arms around himself.  
  
In truth, she wasn't quite sure. "Because how else are ya gonna get over it?"  
  
"Do I have to?" He whined softly, more to himself than to her.  
  
"Just come a little further with me? See, y'aint dead yet." She tried to joke with him, but her voice fell as flat as the colors of winter. "Remy, Ah..."  
  
"I'm goin' back in." He stated firmly, but didn't move. She grabbed a hold of his hand again, afraid that he would just slip away and disappear into the snow.  
  
"Remy, please!" She put her hand on his chest, gently, trying to be comforting. Her eyes sparkled like icemelt. "It's drivin' me crazy! Ah know that Ah did this to you, but Ah'm just tryin' to fix it now! Ah don't want you t' be so afraid anymore, Ah want to share the world with you but Ah can't! Ah'm just tryin' ta help an' fix what Ah did!"  
  
He still didn't move, but she felt him shiver again and look away. "Stop it, Rogue. I'm goin' back in."  
  
She held tighter. "But Ah love you!"  
  
He didn't answer, and that was when the tears came.  
  
She buried her face into his chest, sobbing and clutching his shirt. It was destroying her that he simply refused her attempts to help. And it hurt even more that there she was, breaking down into him, and his arms were hanging limply at his side, his face watching her with dull, mute interest.  
  
Watching her, he knew he was supposed to comfort her, to help hold her close and reassure her, but he couldn't find the strength. Outside, the cold may have drained all the love from him, and now it was spilling from her too. He couldn't do anything to stop it; he couldn't even bare to touch her face or shoulders now.  
  
She finally separated herself from him, wishing she was entangled in him and trapped again. Instead, he let her go freely, and she almost hated him for it.  
  
"C'mon, Rogue, let's go in."  
  
There they stood, facing each other, ankle-deep in snow, and though he barely found the will to hold her hand as they walked back, it was enough for her.  
  
...  
  
...  
  
"Hey, guys!" Bobby sprinted up to where Scott and Kurt were engaging themselves in a game of checkers. Apparently Kurt was winning.  
  
Either victory put him in a good mood, or he'd forgotten about Bobby's earlier behavior entirely. "Guten tag, Herr Drake."  
  
"Hey, Bobby." Scott didn't look up. The game was pretty much shot for him, but tenacity was part of his nature (and the result of being the field leader for far too long).  
  
"Hey, uh, guys..." Bobby's hand was jammed so far down into his pocket that he could have been advertising for roomy cargo pants. He used his other hand to ruffle the hair on the back of his head awkwardly. His sunglasses fell from the top of his head to his nose. "I'm sorry I got all snappy at you. I just was, um, having, uh, a rough time with things earlier this morning."  
  
He half-expected Kurt to get angry and rip his apology open, but the German just smiled happily.  
  
"And if you aren't mad at me, I'd kinda like to come tonight."  
  
Kurt's grin grew wide enough to expose the two sharp incisors. "Of course."  
  
Bobby beamed and grabbed the footrest in the corner, pulling it up to the coffee table and watching them play. "So, where are we gonna go tonight?"  
  
"We could decide on that now." Kurt jumped another one of Scott's checkers, ending the game. He reset the checkers and started the next round.  
  
Scott gritted his teeth as he faced defeat. "Something indoors that isn't a hockey rink."  
  
"Oh, is a Summers brother actually being considerate, for once? Wake the media!" Bobby slugged Scott playfully in the arm.  
  
Scott smiled but kept his eyes on the board. "Yup, a Summers brother is actually thinking of his friends."  
  
"So, how about a movie?"  
  
"What movies are out?" Kurt's tail twitched and swayed on the floor, quicker with the anticipation of victory.  
  
Bobby picked up the newspaper on the couch and skipped to the entertainment section. "Chick flics, mostly. Another sappy romance. Something with James Marsden-"  
  
"Jean absolutely loves James Marsden." Scott said, bitterly and sarcastically.  
  
"Another reason for us not to see it." The Snowman kept looking. "Sorry, Kurt, nothing with pirates. Chick flic, chick flic...war movie?"  
  
Kurt stuck out his tongue and Scott shrugged.  
  
"Guess not..." Bobby started reading from a review. "How about something that involves no intelligence, cool special effects, women in tight leather and corny comedic timing?"  
  
"You've just summed up every action movie I've ever seen." Scott was losing again. "But it'll do."  
  
"Sounds good." Kurt grinned broadly.  
  
"League of Extraordinary Gentlemen it is, then!"  
  
"If Hank and Remy agree, of course." Kurt used his tail to jump Scott's red checkers.  
  
"Yeah." Bobby turned to the comics page.  
  
After a few nods of assent, the conversation slowly dissolved into the white light of winter coming from the window.  
  
"Checkmate."  
  
"That's chess, Kurt. 'Checkmate' is chess."  
  
"Ah, right. New game?"  
  
...  
  
...  
  
Taking a sip of his mocha, Hank sank onto the couch. As he pulled a blanket onto himself, he used the remote to turn the TV on to his favorite channel – Discovery. There was supposed to be some documentary on time- space anomalies, which would undoubtedly go unappreciated by the rest of the mansion's inhabitants.  
  
A familiar face appeared on the screen. "This is Trish Tilby, reporting on what is now known as the Manchester time-"  
  
Hank picked up a book from the table and shut the TV off.  
  
...  
  
...  
  
"There you are!" Lorna caught Rogue drifting through the halls. "Jean and I were looking for you."  
  
"Huh?" Rogue looked at her green-haired friend through bleary eyes.  
  
Lorna was not oblivious to the pain on Rogue's face. "Hey, are you alright?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, Ah'm..." The belle paused. "No, Ah'm not."  
  
Lorna held Rogue's shoulders calmly. "'Cuz, you know, my shoulder's waterproof."  
  
"Nah, Ah really don't wanna talk about it."  
  
"You sure?"  
  
Rogue smiled. "Pretty sure."  
  
Her friend shrugged. "Okay, then. Wanna grab something to eat? Jean and I are hitting a restaurant tonight since the boys'll be out and we thought you'd like to come, or maybe shop for something. You know us girls and shopping. You up for it?"  
  
"Lorna, Ah really ain't in the mood tonight."  
  
Lorna rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. "You're no fun. First you ditch every poker night, and now you won't even come with us! Between you and your boyfriend, I'm not sure who's worse at getting out of the house!"  
  
Rogue glared. "He did leave the house today."  
  
Lorna ignored the last comment. "Anyway, you need a new scarf. That one's getting ratty." She tugged at it.  
  
"Fine, Ah'll go!" Rogue conceded, exasperated. Lorna grinned wickedly.  
  
"That's a girl. We all need to get out anyway."  
  
Rogue smiled ruefully and rolled her eyes again. "How well Ah know."  
  
...  
  
...  
  
"You can't possibly expect me to waste two hours on this drivel." Hank said in disgust at the movie choice.  
  
"Actually, it's only an hour and a half, and you already agreed to it." A smug Bobby smirked at him.  
  
Hank made as if to leave. "And to think that I'd actually attend something as idiotic as-"  
  
"Aw, Haaank!" All four of the other men, spread around the room, whined.  
  
"If it's awful, we'll pay ya ten bucks each." Remy offered.  
  
"Still no." Hank said firmly.  
  
"Twenty, den."  
  
Bobby looked at the Cajun in shock. "I never agreed to this!"  
  
Hank stood firm. "No."  
  
Remy's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Twenty-five from each of us. One hundred all told."  
  
Kurt backed Remy up. "And if it is good, you'll have had a good experience."  
  
"Either way, mon ami, you win."  
  
Hank shrugged and said, cynically, "Fine, assuming you make the three yard dash from the car to the theatre."  
  
It was a shameful attack, and Remy wrinkled his nose. Bobby, however, slapped his thigh and declared, "So we're all going! But if this movie sucks, Remy, you owe me so bad..."  
  
...  
  
...  
  
As soon as the sun started to set, the two groups, respectively, got into their separate cars. Scott had offhandedly suggested that the boys use the Toyota, because he 'liked it more'. In truth, it was primarily because it was already in the garage and he'd decided to spare Remy the particularly long driveway, even if the car was exceptionally crowded.  
  
In return, Remy had volunteered for the most cramped seat, knowing Scott's true intent. Bobby was driving, rather hazardously, as his mind was on other topics.  
  
"So, where are the women going tonight?" From shotgun, Kurt fiddled with the heater with his tail.  
  
Scott had learned long ago that rolling his eyes had little effect with his glasses, so he just cocked his head cynically. "Shopping. Again. Let's just hope it's not for books or clothes."  
  
"Or furniture!" Bobby cried, joining in.  
  
"Rogue bought dis awful green leather couch last time. Lasted a week before dat damn cat tore it t' pieces."  
  
"By the way, Scott, how's your arm?" Kurt looked apologetically at him.  
  
Scott found that he could now laugh at the incident, seeing as it was behind him and Lorna had no chance of catching him. "It's just a scratch."  
  
"Ah! Just a flesh wound!"  
  
The entire car turned to look at Hank, stunned.  
  
Bobby smiled broadly. "You've seen Monty Python?"  
  
Hank blushed behind his fur and grinned.  
  
"Okay, we're getting closer to civilization, guys. Hank, Kurt, image inducers up! Remy, put on those shades!" Scott barked as they entered the city.  
  
...  
  
...  
  
The girls had decided to stop at a restaurant before taking full advantage of the twenty-four hour services at The Gap. The food had too much cheese, but for the most part it was enjoyable.  
  
Lorna spied an attractive man across the room. "Look at that one."  
  
"Ain't you s'posed to be with Bobby?" Rogue tried to correct her friend's behavior. She knew how sensitive Bobby could be, even if she was still hurt from their earlier conversation.  
  
Lorna sighed and stirred her drink with her spoon. She murmured under her breath. "How long do you think that's gonna last?"  
  
"Is it really that bad?" Jean's concern was palpable.  
  
Lorna started. "No, no, it's not bad! It's just...other things, you know? He loves me to death, but I just...don't." She finished sadly.  
  
She kept stirring her drink lazily. "Jesus, what am I gonna do?"  
  
"About?" Jean asked.  
  
Lorna sighed again. "Bobby. I don't like lying to him."  
  
"Lying?" Rogue looked skeptical and took a bite of her cheeseburger.  
  
Lorna looked dejected. "I told him I didn't miss Alex. But I don't know how to tell him the truth without breaking his heart."  
  
Rogue and Jean both nodded sympathetically. Rogue felt that she'd already driven the knife deep enough between the Bobby and Lorna, so she kept her mouth shut.  
  
"Hmm. I guess men just suck." Jean said randomly, sipping her own drink. "Scott actually thought I had an affair! God, its like there are no men with any self-confidence in the mansion. Maybe it's in the air. Hank would probably have some chemical analysis for it. Some weird mixture between testasterone and the air conditioner."  
  
The other two girls nodded. How true! They just weren't sure if it extended to men only.  
  
...  
  
...  
  
"Okay, guys, we're here!" Bobby pulled, having, thankfully, avoided an accident. "Let's get our tickets and pop on in!"  
  
"Tuck your tail in!" Scott urgently whispered to Kurt. As Remy struggled to get over the backseat, behind which he'd been crammed, Scott tapped him on the shoulder.  
  
"You wanna wait in the car while we get the tickets?"  
  
Remy gave his lopsided grin. "Dieu, Scott, are you always dis over- protective about your teammates? Remy's fine bein' outside for a whole o' three minutes!"  
  
Scott's lips parted in a smile as he hit the recline button, helping Remy out. "Glad to hear it. Now let's hope this movie's good or we owe money."  
  
...  
  
...  
  
Lorna put a book back on the shelf. "What is it with all this lousy literature about people whining about their lives?"  
  
"Dunno, guess that's what sells." Rogue leafed through a magazine in the store. Nothing incredibly interesting. Another celebrity breakup. Big deal.  
  
Jean was looking through the latest romance novels. None of them interested her. "Hey, Rogue, there's some stuff here you might like."  
  
"Ah outgrew Harlequin eight years ago." She said, but she wandered over to that section anyway.  
  
"I'm just surprised none of us raided the self-help section yet." Lorna said absentmindedly.  
  
"Well, Ah doubt any of them deal with tryin' to murder your ex's new girlfriend, eating a solar system and havin' poison skin." Rogue replied, equally absentmindedly.  
  
Jean shushed her. "We're in public!"  
  
Rogue smirked ruefully. "What, that doesn't happen to everyone?"  
  
...  
  
...  
  
The boys came out of the theatre grumbling. Hank looked triumphant but tired, Remy looked through his wallet, Scott picked his way through the glove compartment and the other two promised to get the money when they got home.  
  
"Shoulda listened t' Hank..." Remy muttered, handing over a twenty and a five and jumping, rather quickly, into the car.  
  
Still, just a night out of the house and enjoying themselves (except for the movie) had been worth it.  
  
...  
  
...  
  
"Bobby? Is that you?" Lorna was almost asleep on the couch in her room when he came in. "Was the movie good?"  
  
She shifted her feet so he could sit down next to her. "The movie sucked, but it was fun. How was shopping?"  
  
"Rogue got a new scarf and Jean got some books." She mumbled, resting her head on his shoulder.  
  
He buried his face in her hair, absorbing the sweet scent of her. They couldn't be that screwed up. "What, you didn't bring me anything?"  
  
She looked up at him and smiled. "You're so insistent." She kissed him lightly on the cheek, but let her lips linger. He couldn't help but think that it was empty. The both knew it was an acting job, that she was pretending he was someone else, that he was pretending not to notice.  
  
Quietly, he lay into her and they closed their eyes, their breathing coincidentally synchronized. The button on her shirt bit into his cheek, but he didn't care. The one woman he really wanted was falling asleep in his arms, and no matter what, he wasn't going to let her go yet.  
  
The touch of her hand turned off the light as the moon filtered from the winter. Throughout the night, it illuminated their sleeping forms. Tonight, they weren't alone in the dark.  
  
...  
  
...  
  
Rogue had been downstairs watching TV when the men came back home, so she hadn't realized they were back until Kurt had come down to say goodnight half an hour later.  
  
"Ah, mein schwester, I thought I wouldn't find you." He peered over the couch's headrest at her.  
  
She sat up and turned off the television. "Didn't know y'all were back yet."  
  
"Hmm." His tail twitched lazily. "Remy's already asleep. He was tired."  
  
She yawned. "He ain't the only one. Ah just wanted t' be up when y'all got back. How long ya been here?"  
  
"Half an hour." Kurt started to leave the room, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Good night."  
  
"G'night to you too." Rogue got up and, brushing a white lock from her face, left for her room.  
  
It was true – Remy was already sleeping. His soft breathing was hardly audible in the room. Rogue considered that a blessing, knowing his tendency to snore. His blankets had shifted slightly, exposing his bare shoulder.  
  
"You awake, sugah?" She bent over him, saw his eyelashes flutter lightly. No answer. "Ah – Ah'm sorry for makin' you do that today. Next time you don't wanna do somethin', maybe Ah'll listen."  
  
Before crawling into her own bed, she pulled a blanket back up to cover his shoulder.  
  
...  
  
...  
  
Once again, Hank was comfortably sleeping alone. He believed that he, of all the inhabitants of the mansion, didn't truly mind it. His fur was warm enough by itself. Though dissatisfied with the amount of work he'd actually finished today, he'd hate to say that the day wasn't productive.  
  
In fact, it had made him feel more accomplished than most of his studies had ever done.  
  
...  
  
...  
  
Scott was surprised to see that he wasn't the only one with insomnia. His lovely wife was also in the kitchen, shoulder-length hair down and holding a cup of tea with all five fingers.  
  
"Didn't expect to see you down here." She said lightly. "Y'want tea, honey?"  
  
"Tea and honey'd be nice." He said, knowing that that wasn't her use for the word, but knowing she'd think it funny.  
  
They laughed as the rest of their home slept. 


	10. Lorna's Interlude

Lorna's Interlude – Never Wear White

...

Author's Note – Ah! Finally I've updated! Once again, I'm so sorry with the total lack of schedule here. I'll try to get the next one up within the month, but no promises.

...

...

"I can turn a Sentinel into a highly compressed tin can without lifting a finger, but I still can't program a VCR. It must be a girl thing." Lorna

...

...

Neither of us is asleep and we know it.

Come to think of it, we rarely are. It's nothing dirty, just that we don't sleep much. We pretend to, lying in each other's arms, but that's as much a lie as we are.

"...Bobby?" I mumble, and he shifts beneath me.

"Hmm? Yeah, I'm awake."

"Thought so." I scoot myself off his chest to sit at the end of the couch. He tucks his legs in to make room. I don't know the right way to start this conversation, so I bite my lip and pause. He waits patiently, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

How do I explain this?

I'm not in love with him, but I do care about him. That's why this is going to be hard. I know this is going to hurt him, and hurting him will hurt me, and suddenly I'm so selfish to be thinking how _I'll_ feel instead of him. I've trapped myself into hurting him. There's no backing out.

If only life and love was easy, I'd love him back. I want to love him back. But I know what love is, and this isn't it. I'd give almost anything to lie in his arms _without_ the guilt that I'm just benefiting from him without giving anything in return. I'm some kind of parasite absorbing his affection and faking love. We both know it isn't real.

With Alex I was passionate. With Bobby I am lost.

"Do we...do we need to talk?" He asks tentatively, and he almost cringes when I nod.

"I've been thinking..." I try to just say the words, but my tongue is caught behind my teeth. He's wearing a black shirt and I'm wearing a white nightgown. I think bitterly about the last time a man wore black when I was wearing white, and my resolve falters again.

God damn it. God damn it all. Why can't we just be perfect like Jean and Scott?

And I finally say it. "I don't love you. I'm leaving."

His voice unnaturally cool and calculated, and right now, I'd prefer it if he just broke down and cried. "Fine. Get your things. Get out of my room."

He stares at me angrily; there isn't a trace of sadness in his face. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but he interrupts me. "You heard me the first time, right? Get your stuff and use the empty room down the hall."

I nod and my eyes fill with tears, but I'll be damned if I let them fall. He keeps staring me down as I grab what stuff I can carry easily. He wants me to feel guilty, and dammit, I feel like shit. He would never hurt me up front, not like Alex might, but since I first met him he's learned how to do it indirectly.

"You were just using me, weren't you?" I nearly jump at his voice. There isn't a trace of the jokester, fun-loving Bobby I know in his voice, and when I turn back to see him he's iced up. "All this time, and I thought you could love me."

I shake my head. "It's not that, Bobby. I just can't stand doing this to you."

"What, using me?" He spits out, and I see frost creeping across the couch covers. He's making himself cold, inaccessible, untouchable. The room temperatures dropping and I shiver, though I'm not sure if it's from the cold or the sudden change in him.

I can't change the words enough to make them sound right, so I stay quiet. The thought of freedom is terrifying yet tempting, and all I have to do is go through the motions and walk out that door. I can't turn back to our little fantasy world anyway.

He'd have given me everything and I refused it, because it's unfair to both of us. He loved me and I was empty. I can't let him waste himself like that. He'll get over me if I break away now.

"Just go." He says, and for a second I think that his eyes aren't icy anymore, that they're brown again and starting to rim with red. They're not. They're frigid blue and glassy.

He's doing me a favor, turning to ice. That way I don't have to witness what I'm doing, what I've done, what we've done.

I take my stuff with me and walk out the door, starting to close it quietly behind me. I wait a few seconds, then take a last look. The couch is still draped in a light layer of white snow and ice, but it's melting and he's tan skin and brown hair again, and he puts his head in his hands.

Hard to believe that this was the best thing I could do for him now. I can't lie to him anymore. The air outside the room tastes bitter and I already hate it.

I'm _never_ going to wear white again.


	11. Repercussion

Chapter Eleven – Repercussion

--

--

A/N – I suppose I'll have to admit that I can't keep to a monthly schedule. While I refuse to abandon this project, I won't lie and say the next chapter will be up soon, because God knows when that will be. I'm sorry, if that helps.

A/N 2 – And a humongous thank you to all the people who support me in this project and convince me to work on new chapters. You know who you are, and you have my heartfelt thanks.

-/-

-/-

"Of all those useful things I learned in high school, they never did teach me how to surprise a telepath on her birthday." Scott's Thoughts

-/-

-/-

Sunday morning was quiet. Nobody spoke around the breakfast table. Lorna took a seat at the end and spent most of her time gazing into her cereal. Bobby grabbed an orange Creamsicle and quart of strawberry ice cream before he left the room and slammed the door. At first, Scott kept looking anxiously, wondering if he should go after him, but decided against it. Bobby wanted to be alone, fine.

Remy was particularly twitchy. A fierce wind was buffeting sheets of snow against the windows, and every once in a while he'd bite his lip and shudder. Rogue bit her own ruby lips and hung her head every time that happened.

Lorna was feeling guilty, Rogue was feeling guilty, and all the emotional feedback was giving Jean a headache. She tried several ties to start a conversation, but to no avail. All she received were a few muffled grunts and weak giggles. Scott tried his best too, but his faux smile could only stay on for half a minute before his cheeks started to ache.

Kurt would have been a welcome addition to help cheer the mood, but he'd gone to service and had dragged Hank along with him. Jean wished either of them were nearby, or at least someone who could hold a decent conversation.

"So, how about we go see a movie tonight or something?" She said, smiling with an all-too cheery air. She was a few seconds away from mind-washing everyone into a better mood.

"I'm not going outside." Remy muttered, and Rogue looked downcast.

"Oh, that'll be great, Jean. We'll walk into a sappy chic-flic with over-romantic plots and forget our problems! It'll solve everything! What fun!" Lorna snapped.

Jean sighed and rubbed her temples. "Don't think I didn't ask you."

Lorna took a gargantuan gulp of her coffee as if it was alcohol. She drank it as if it could make her forget things, make her less guilty, and remove the weight of blame from around her neck.

Remy started when the heater made a clunking sound. Rogue sighed and sucked on her oatmeal spoon sadly. Jean looked at Scott and received only a shrug in return.

The redhead tried again. "Well, can't we do _something_? Are we just going to mope all day?"

"You bet." Bobby called from the other room. "And unless you wanna cook, I think it's microwave dinner too."

Jean groaned in frustration and stomped out of the room.

"Are telepaths always dis cranky?" Remy asked.

"I think it's the weather." Scott mused. "Or the fact that you guys are all sulking. One or the other." He stood up, fairly peeved himself, and left.

Lorna, Remy and Rogue ate the rest of breakfast in silence.

--

--

Kurt had been fairly surprised by Hank's willingness to go to church with him. He'd always believed the other blue furry to be more science-oriented, and had always doubted any religious faith in him.

Hank explained during the car ride there. "Although I have no strong belief in the presence of an Almighty, I find most houses of worship to be rather serene and visually stunning."

"Mein freund…I have enough trouble understanding regular English as it is." Kurt blushed beneath his fur.

Hank chuckled pleasantly. "I don't believe in God, but I think the churches are quite beautiful."

"Ah." Kurt grinned, baring two pointed teeth.

"Besides, you were the only person in the mansion not looking positively murderous."

It was Kurt's turn to chuckle. "True, true." He steered the car with his tail. "They are so dramatic!"

Hank smiled. "My thespian friend, you'd know all about dramatic, wouldn't you?"

"Ja, but my drama entertains. Theirs just makes people angry." Kurt mused.

-/-

-/-

Jean sprawled out on her bed and ran her hands through her hair. Two ibuprofen and New Age music couldn't keep this headache away. Her room was the only safe place, where no one was entering and giving off their angry emotional vibes. She knew well enough that they could mask their thoughts from her, but they didn't seem to care at the moment. She needed a retreat. She needed solitude.

"Honey?" She heard Scott from the door.

"_Not now_." She growled.

Scott left, wondering why he was the only sane one left in the house.

--

--

Jean wasn't the only woman in need of some peace. Lorna took the other car and drove out to town. She didn't have anywhere she wanted to go, so she decided to stop at the local park. She'd never been there before, and even while it was snowing she ventured out and took a walk.

After about ten minutes of clutching her coat to herself and letting her hair get snowy and plastered to her face, she set up a magnetic shield around herself and kept walking. She didn't want snow.

The walk through the park was quite lonely. She needed a dog. She needed a friend who'd love her no matter what, even if it meant trekking through snow when she was in a bad mood.

The only problem was, that friend had been there all along, and she had rejected him from a mixture of fear and hope. Afraid she'd have to choose again, if her hope held out and Alex returned.

She'd have to name the dog. She didn't know what she would call it. Maybe she'd let Bobby do it.

-/-

-/-

Had his frigophobia not been a sore spot for her, Rogue would have laughed at the amount of times Remy checked the thermostat. Instead, she bit her lip and read the paper.

Bombings in Iraq, gay rights denied, shootout at mutant school, Scott Peterson, femicide in Guatemala, more bodies in Genosha.

She skipped to the Life section. Old Abigail was still giving out marital bliss in gift-wrapped boxes, accompanied by a package of good parenting.

The Cathy comic made her giggle. The Dilbert one made her snort.

"What's so funny, chere?" Remy leaned over her shoulder and read. She smiled, but it was a farce. Their motions and words were loving, but inside they were sizing each other up, afraid of the impending battle. Neither was loving each other deep down, even though both wanted things to work out.

"Look, chere, Trish Tilby's in de paper." He pointed at an article on time-space anomalies. "M'sieu Bete was tellin' me about a Discovery Channel show on dese anomaly t'ings, but I think he missed it. Bet he didn't know Trish was reportin'."

"Ah'll cut it out for him." Rogue folded the paper, pressed down with her nails, licked the edge and tore it neatly away. She passed it to Remy, who used a smiley-faced magnet to stick it to the freezer.

The heater made another clunking sound and Remy started. "I'll check dat heater again. It sure doesn't seem like dis place is sixty degrees."

"Sugah, Ah'm in shorts and a T-shirt…"

"Yeah, well, you also like ice cream at three a.m., so you're judgment don't count." He said offhandedly, as if nothing was the matter.

And on the surface, nothing was.

--

--

"Bobby, what are you doing?" Scott had gone out after the wind had died down and found Bobby wearing pajamas out in the snow, methodically pitching snowballs at the mansion.

"Nuthin'. Zilch. Nada. Zip. Not a thing." Bobby packed another snowball and threw it, knocking a clump of snow from a windowsill.

"The more you lie the more obvious it is that you're not being straight with me. You don't have to say the same thing five times for me to get the point, you know." Scott said skeptically.

Bobby sneered and scooped up another snowball, flinging it at a window. "So? Since when do I have to be honest with you?"

Scott's cheeks flushed, either from cold or from anger. If he was angry, he did a good job keeping his voice even. "I thought you were always honest with your teammates."

"Oh, so this about teammates now? Haven't you noticed we're on vacation?" Bobby asked, tilting his head mockingly.

"Bobby, I won't pretend to understand about what happened between you and Lorna, but I really think-"

Bobby's eyes suddenly flared and he yelled. His hands balled into fists. "Yeah, that's right, you _don't_ understand. You've never been shot down, Scott! You went off and married your first love! The rest of us normal, unlucky people get our hearts trampled on every day and _you_ just don't get it!"

A snowball appeared in his hand and he flung it viciously at the window. Scott quickly looked over his shades and shattered it with an optic beam.

"Right, that wasn't a snowball. That was ice." Scott said sternly. Bobby glared. "You need to cut this out."

"Drop dead, Scott. You're my team leader, not my mother."

Scott pursed his lips in surrender. "Fine, but you pay for any windows you break."

"Whatever. Deal." Bobby nodded, sitting down in the snow. He looked deflated.

"And you have to help them reinstall it." Scott threw over his shoulder as he began to leave.

"Yeah, okay." Bobby fell back into the snow, waving his arms slightly and making a snow angel. A few snowflakes landed on his nose and the stray locks of hair on his face. They even caught on his eyelashes and fluttered up and down, up and down with each blink.

And they melted on his lips as he smiled bitterly and sighed.

--

--

Hank did not believe in God, but he happily joined in the church proceedings. The whole building was so beautiful it made his heart beat fast. Colors like water spilled through the stained-glass windows and spattered over the floor in jewel drops. The fine stone was craved so perfectly it smiled down on them. Arts had never been Henry's favorite study (that was a position reserved for science), but he loved the church's beauty.

Kurt was in one of his favorite places too. His only regret was that while he felt he was safe with God, he had to use his image inducer around all the church-goers. Even in the house of God he was not accepted.

The hymns ended and the pastor read. Hank smiled beneath his inducer and Kurt bowed his head in prayer.

-/-

-/-

Humming some old Patsy Cline tune to herself, Rogue checked the fridge and smiled to see that Bobby hadn't eaten all the ice cream. She promised herself she wouldn't eat too much, but she knew well enough that that promise wouldn't last. Lately she'd been binge-eating more and more. It seemed that winter was killing both her and Remy, by driving him inside and by putting the pounds on her.

But of course, another inch around the waist wasn't the end of the world. She had to constantly remind herself that a few months indoors didn't qualify a terminal illness either.

"Save some for everyone else, chere." Remy smiled. She looked up and blushed, caught by her beau while she was shoveling orange sherbet down her throat.

"You didn't see nuthin', Cajun." She teased.

His expression changed from bemusement to concern. "Right, den can I talk about 'nuthin''?"

"Ah guess." She looked at him quizzically.

He sat down next to her, grabbing a stick of jerky from the drawer. "I been worried about ya. Ya don' seem happy anymore." He tried to act casual unwrapping chewing on his jerky, but he seemed nervous. Worried.

"Ah'm fine, sugah." She smiled, but it was fake. "Ah'm just a bit worried about you."

"Remy's doin' fine." He said, bluffing as easily as if it was at cards.

Rogue's brow furrowed. "Ah told mahself Ah wouldn't press the subject…"

"What subject, chere?" He knew, he just didn't want it to be obvious.

Rogue bit her lip. "Nuthin'." She sighed. "Everythin'll be fine in the spring…" She said softly, hardly loud enough for him to hear.

Live and endure. They had to make it till spring, preserve their love, tame their insecurities, live, and endure. They had to lie to themselves and each other just until the first buds graced the trees.

---

--

Lorna returned to her car, cheeks pinked and hands shivering despite her magnetic shield. The car itself was warm, and she turned up the heater and the stereo at the same time. She didn't even think as she was driving back. Her mind set itself to autopilot and she turned the steering wheel methodically.

The snow was melting when she stepped out of the car and onto the driveway. Bobby was leaning against a tree outside. He turned his head to look at her, and she at him.

For a second they stood staring at one another. Her apology was intangible. His accepting wasn't heard. Then he turned away, and she walked through the door, both feeling a little more hollow for it.

-/-

-/-

"You can't just be their friend, Scotty." Jean had taken another ibuprophen and with everyone out of the house, her headache had receded into a quiet buzz in her temples. She'd seen her husband sitting next to the checkers set and drinking a coffee and decided to spend her time with him and apologize for her previous hostility.

To her surprise, that wasn't what was bothering him. She should have known him that well, but surprises did make life more balanced.

"I know, Jean. They've listened to me barking orders too long for that." He smiled weakly.

She nodded. "They don't think we understand what they're talking about most of the time." And she had to admit, her experiences were much different than what they faced. She dealt with rebirth while Lorna dealt with stale love. She feared galactic forces while Remy feared the cold. She knew life and death like the back of her hand. They were just trying to find their way through love and affection and anger and solitude.

And somehow, those issues of life and death were only background noises.

Scott killed his coffee. "Do you think they ever get jealous of what we have?"

"Maybe. Probably. We got lucky." She said. The idea unnerved her. It made her feel inhuman, above the others.

"Yeah. We got lucky." He got up. "Want more coffee? I made a whole pot. It's supposed to be good for headaches."

--

--

"It's fortunate I have a cell phone, ja?" Kurt pulled it out of his pocket with his tail. Hank smiled ruefully. The car sat stubbornly on the side of the road, refusing to move.

"Quite fortunate."

Kurt clumsily dialed the cell phone and put it to his ear. Making a face, he dialed again. "Mein freund, what does it mean by 'no service'?"

"It means we're not as fortunate as we thought." Hank smiled in spite of himself.

"We could hitchhike." Kurt shrugged. "Or hope we find a telepath."

Hank nodded and grinned. "Ah, yes, my kingdom for a telepath. Let us hope the image inducer batteries don't run out."

-/-

-/-

Remy smiled as he caught Rogue on the couch sleeping with a Harlequin novel hanging limply from her hand. "Looks like I'm catchin' you doin' all sorts of indulgent things today."

"'M not asleep." She mumbled.

He sat down next to her and ran his hand through the end of her curled hair. She shifted uneasily. Touch was forbidden – always would be, as far as she knew, and he was tempting her.

But they were nothing if not people who mistook touch for passion, so she stayed on the couch and let him caress the auburn locks. She didn't want to interrupt the routine with her mouth.

Yet, "We need to talk," just slipped through her lips.

Remy looked as if ice water had begun trickling down his spine, and he recoiled his hand. "'Dis about the weather?"

She nodded, fully awake now. She didn't trust her mouth to speak for her.

Remy sighed. "Chere, you're worryin' too much. I'm fine."

Rogue shook her head. "No, you're not. Ah ain't blind, Remy, and ah know last time I tried to force you it all ended for the worst, but…" She trailed off from words to a whisper to silence.

Remy's eyebrows pursed. "Ya don't need to worry about me."

She bit her lip. "That ain't true. Remy, ah know it's been like this every year but ah dunno, ah think you're getting' worse-"

"Worse?" He interjected angrily. "What, I got a sickness now, Rogue?"

"No, ah meant-"

"Stop _worryin'_ about me!" He said fiercely, getting up quickly from the couch. "I'm fine!"

"Ah never said you weren't, ah just-"

But he left the room and the slamming door cut her off.

_Your fault_, the door seemed to bark. And it was, and she was lost as to how to correct things.

So she rolled over and buried her face in the couch cushion, and though she bit her lip, she did not cry.

--

--

Hank and Kurt were surprised to see Jean so eager to see them. After they'd stood by the side of the road for almost an hour, alternating between checking their watches and inducer batteries, some Good Samaritan had given their car battery a jump. Upon entering the mansion, Jean had ambushed both of them.

"Thank God you're here, if I have to watch one more person sulk I'm going to lose my goddamn mind." She gave them each a quick hug "What took you so long, anyway?"

Kurt hung up the car keys on the rack. "Something when wrong with the car and we had to wait for someone to help."

Jean pursed her lips. "Couldn't you have called us?"

"Don't think we didn't try." Hank smiled, revealing the lower tips of his fangs. "Kurt's phone was out of service range."

"Well, it doesn't matter much now. How was church?" She asked, digging for any conversation that wasn't moody. Those suffering stares and furrowed brows exhausted her.

"I found it most satisfying." Hank said, then pointed to the half-empty pot of coffee. "Do you mind?"

Jean laughed. "Henry, if I drank that entire thing I'd be bouncing off the walls. Here, Kurt, you have some too."

"Danke, fraulein." Kurt accepted gratefully, licking his lips. "The church was as beautiful as always; I was once again in the eyes of God. It is a most remarkable feeling. How have things been here?"

Jean rolled her eyes and sighed in exasperation. "Scott's moody, Lorna's sulking, Bobby's…somewhere, Remy's under a pile of blankets with the remote control, and Rogue's sulking and sleeping."

"She sulks while she sleeps now?" Kurt mused and smiled.

Jean chuckled slightly and drank some of the coffee herself. "If it weren't for you two I'd lose my mind. Heaven forbid anybody be happy in this house."

-/-

-/-

Lorna Dane was surprised how enraptured one could become with game shows. Remy, having seemingly smothered his entire body under a quilt, had one hand poking out and had changed channels to Jeopardy. Lorna had just passed by and stopped when a question about anthropology had caught her ear.

Soon, she was absorbed in it. Remy occasionally offered a muffled correction when the answers she gave were wrong.

"The Parthenon?" She guessed, in response to 'The most famous Greek temple devoted to Athena'.

"'What is' de Parthenon," came from beneath the covers.

Lorna snorted. "Fine, what is the Parthenon."

Remy's head emerged from the quilt, unruly hair pressed to his face. "But by now, I woulda gotten the points."

"Would not." She shot back. She turned her attention back to the screen, but didn't know the next question. "Should we keep score?"

Remy grinned. "Get something to write on. We'll start after de next commercial break."

She grabbed a pen and a pack of Post-It notes. After the show had ended, Lorna tallied the points. To her surprise, Remy had won, though it was only by a slight amount.

"You wouldn't have gotten half your points if they hadn't had that Cajun Food section."

"Doesn't matter, chere, looks like I still won."

"We'll see how you fare on Wheel of Fortune." She smiled sadistically.

Remy grinned back. "Dat a challenge?"

And so they went on healing each other, just by laughing and smiling and teasing each other, finding comfort in the notion that the other was covering up for an equal amount of misery, for the moment.

--

--

"I sure hope Sean was joking about arming the kids with flamethrowers." Scott said, looking slightly shaken as he walked into the room. "At least, that's what I think he said."

Jean sighed. "You still think you have to run everything or it'll all blow up by tomorrow?"

Scott smiled weakly. "Well, the Professor's gone, and if I don't hold down the fort-"

"You'll have a nervous breakdown, I know." Jean interrupted, motioning for him to sit.

"That's not what I was about to say." He muttered peevishly, though he did sit down.

Jean gently massaged between his neck and shoulder. "It doesn't make it any less true. Haven't you ever taken a vacation before?"

"Yeah, you know I have. That feels good."

The door closed quietly behind Bobby as he entered. Scott and Jean looked up.

Jean stopped massaging Scott. "Where've you been, Bobby?"

"Outside." He said simply, before he turned and walked out into the hall and out of sight.

"He's not taking this whole Lorna business well." Scott said softly.

"No, he's not. But let them sort it out for themselves." Jean went back to massaging Scott's shoulders. "You don't have to control everything. I swear someday you'll take over the world, just to keep it safe."

Scott smiled and kissed her cheek.

-/-

-/-

"My oh my, Hank McCoy's actually outta his lab for once." Rogue said smoothly. "An' cleanin' house, no less."

'I'm merely sorting through the videotapes. It seems quite a few are mislabeled. And actually, I haven't been in my lab the entire day." Hank said casually, stripping a tag off a tape.

Rogue sat down next to him. "Mind if Ah help ya?" She asked. She needed a distraction.

"I'd be grateful for any assistance, yes." He smiled.

She picked up an old recording of a soap opera she'd followed religiously years ago. "Oh, and before Ah forget! I clipped out a newspaper article for ya – it had somethin' about Trish – it's on the fridge now."

He started slightly. "Oh. Oh, yes, uh, thank you. Help me with this tape, would you?"

Rogue saw him fidget, but she didn't say anything. It was not her business, and she had no right intruding. She shouldn't have even torn out the clipping.

And yet, she was only trying to be helpful. At least Hank appreciated that. Unlike others she knew.

--

--

Bobby's prediction about dinner proved to be correct. He pulled out a pre-made lasagna from the oven and sat at the table, fork readied, preparing to eat it all.

"Are you going to eat that all?" He heard from the doorway, and the light caught a strand of green hair, telling him it was her.

"I was planning on it." He said sullenly, mood suddenly dampened. "Want some?"

She shook her head and her face emerged into light. Pink lips, curved eyelashes, slightly arched eyebrows – they were all so distant, as if he were looking at a statue carved from marble. Perfect, but lacking humanity.

He didn't let her see that he had even noticed her walking in. Instead, he chewed a bite of lasagna, focusing instead on the taste of cheese and sauce.

She sighed and sat on the table, scuffed boots clicking against the wooden leg. "Bobby, we can't keep up like this. You can't just cut me out…"

He chewed.

"…Right?" She asked, searching for some hope. "Can't we still be friends? I don't see what's so damn hard about that."

He chewed again.

The hard part was that friendship is a game of equal reciprocation. Whatever one gives is matched evenly. Love wasn't like that. Lorna was unable to give because she had nothing left.

"I can cut you out if I want." He said. He was beyond caring if it hurt.

She hung her head. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry I dragged you down with me."

He couldn't shake the feeling that she'd used him.

Bobby got another bite of lasagna, but didn't eat it. He just looked at it on his fork. "Yeah, we got all that out last night."

She ground her front teeth against her lip. "If that's what you want." She said as she left, feeling as if all her good cheer had been sucked from her body like poison from a wound.

He put the lasagna in his mouth. _Damn_. He hated how his ex lived two doors down the hall.

-/-

-/-

Life quieted down at about ten thirty. Hank had once again retreated to his lab, though he hadn't mentioned to anyone his stop at the fridge first. His guise was that he was gathering Twinkies for a long night's work, and even if anyone had been there, they probably would have missed the way his hand deftly grabbed the clipping.

So he returned to his lab, and after reading the article, he calmly tore the clipping in two and let both halves flutter to the bottom of his wastebasket. Some things were, some things were not. There was no use obsessing over them.

The computer keys were cold but with his fur, he did not feel them. He typed so fast he didn't even notice the gentle hum of the monitor. When his work was through, he crawled into his bed and slept, alone but fairly content.

--

--

Remy was still on the couch he had been on earlier, though from the plates, spoons and forks surrounding him, he'd been up at least once to grab food. He wasn't sure why he'd decided to sleep on the couch. Maybe he was afraid of Rogue. Maybe he was just afraid of apologizing to her. He didn't feel as if he had anything to apologize for, but it didn't rid him of a decidedly guilty feeling.

It scared him, slightly. He didn't feel as if he was in control anymore. Driven by fear and regret, he was locking himself away, and it wasn't even his own choice.

Tomorrow he'd venture outside. Tomorrow.

-/-

-/-

Jean was simply thinking about how people slowed down as winter came over them stronger. She was awake, not desperate for sleep, just thinking.

Scott breathed lightly beside her. She wasn't alone, she wasn't curled up in the dark like Rogue, in as few covers as she could bear as if to prove something. She wasn't tearing herself to pieces in the emptiness of her room like Lorna. She wasn't sleeping on the couch or reading old pirate novels for a sense of comfort. She was simply there, with her husband breathing right by her side.

She was lucky. She knew she was lucky. She shouldn't feel guilty for being lucky. And she didn't.


End file.
